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ELI 
PERKINS 

THIRTY 
YEARS 
OF  WIT 


AND 

REMINISCENCES 
OF  WITTY 
WISE  AND 
ELOQUENT 
MEN 


BY 

Melville  D. 
Landon 

(ELI  PERKINS) 


1*99 

XTbe  Werner  Company 

NEW  YORK  AKRON.  OHIO  CHICAGO 


Copyright    1891 

BY 

Cassell  Publishing  Company 


Copyright  1899 

BY 

THE  WERNER  COMPANY 

Perkins 


CONTENTS. 


It 

\9° 


PACE 

Acknowledgments  and  Thanks ix 

Reminiscences  of  Noted  Men i 

Charles  Sumner  on  Leibnitz  and  Kepler— Talks  with  Josh 
Billings,  Sam  Jones.  Mark  Twain,  Danbury  News  Man,  and 
Bill  Arp. 

General  Sherman's  Anecdotes  and  Jokes 20 

Sherman  on  John  Phoenix,  Win.  R.  Travers,  General  Scott, 
General  Kilpatrick,  Admiral  Farragut,  and  General  How- 
ard— His  Joke  on  the  Ghost  Dancers,  Garfield,  the  Irish 
Soldier,  and  Tennessee  Women. 

Reminiscences  of  Wm.  R.  Travers 41 

Travers's  Joke  on  the  Englishman — A.  T.  Stewart,  Joe  Mills, 
Henry  Clews,  Jay  Gould,  and  August  Belmont. 

Chauncey  Depew's  Best  Stories 50 

Depew  on  the  Poughkeepsie  Farm — Discussing  Demand  and 
Supply — The  Crowded  Connecticut  Funeral — Absent- 
minded  Daniel  Drew — The  Spotted  Dog  and  Other  Stories 
— Depew  in  Ireland — Fun  with  the  Irish  Girls — All  of 
Depew's  Stories. 

New  Philosophy  of  Wit  and  Humor 69 

Wit  and  Humor  Distinctly  Separated — Wit,  Imagination  ; 
Humor,  the  Truth — Wits  and  Humorists  Classified — Mark 
Twain,  Dickens,  Will  Carleton.Nasby,  Josh  Billings,  Dan- 
bury  News  Man,  Burdette — Pathos. 

Wild  West  Exaggerations 92 

The  Wit  of  Exaggeration — Wonderful  Fishing  and  Hunting 
Stories — The  Lying  Tournament  of  the  Press  Club — West- 
ern Imagination — Wild  Bill,  Bill  Nye,  and  Eli  Compete. 

v 


VI  CONTENTS. 

Satire  Kills  Error 106 

The  Great  Satirists:  Cervantes,  Dean  Swift,  Juvenal,  Nasby 
— Christ  Uses  Satire  to  Kill  Error — Satirizing  the  Jury 
System — Satirizing  Blustering  Lawyers — Satirizing  Society 
and  the  Dude — Satirizing  the  Agnostic — Satirizing  Huxley, 
Herbert  Spencer,  and  Ingersoll — Satire  in  Politics  Brings 
Letters  from  Blaine  and  President  Harrison. 

Ridicule  Kills  Truth 139 

Ridiculing  Truth  and  Laughing  it  out  of  Court — Randolph 
Ridicules  Clay — Ingersoll  Ridicules  Christianity — How  to 
Meet  Ridicule — Ridiculing  Ritualism — Beecher  Ridicules 
Bob — Ridicule  a  Lawyer's  Weapon,  not  the  Clergyman's — 
Christ  Used  Satire,  but  not  Ridicule. 

Eli  Explains  Repartee 156 

The  Repartee  of  Diogenes  and  Aristippus  of  Greece,  Talley- 
rand and  Madame  de  Stael  of  France,  Charles  Lamb  and 
Douglas  Jerrold  of  England,  and  Tom  Corwin,  Randolph, 
Thad.  Stevens,  Sam  Jones,  Ben.  Butler,  Wendell  Phillips, 
and  Sam  Cox  of  America — Blaine  and  Conkling's 
Repartee. 

Artemus  Ward 168 

The  Father  of  American  Humor — Personal  Reminiscences 
— Where  Eli  Perkins  Got  his  nam  de  plume — From  the 
Maine  Farm  to  Kensal  Green — His  original  MSS.  left  to 
the  Writer. 

Bill  Nye  in  Laramie , 187 

How  he  Introduced  Perkins  to  an  Audience — He  Interviews 
an  English  Joker — He  Writes  his  Biography  for  this  Book. 

Children's  Wit  and  Wisdom 194 

They  Make  us  Laugh  and  Cry— Child  Theology— Ethel's 
Funny  Blunders. 

Those  Wicked,  Wicked  Boys 199 

Their  First  Boots  and  First  Pockets— That  Naughty  Uncle 
William — Grandma  Loves  them  and  Grandpa  Makes  a  Fool 
of  Himself. 


CONTENTS.  Vll 

Story-telling  Clergymen 204 

Clerical  Anecdotes  by  Dr  Collyer,  Lyman  Abbott,  Beecher, 
and  Prof.  Swing — Special  Prayer,  Baptism,  and  Close  Com- 
munion Anecdotes — A  Clerical  Convention  for  Real  Solid 
Fun. 

Doctors'  Wit  and  Humor 223 

General  Sheridan  Jokes  Dr.  Bliss — Dr.  Hammond  Cures  Eli 
Perkins — Dr.  Monson  Knows  it  All — The  Colored  Doctor 
— The  Irishman's  Doctor. 

Eli  with  the  Lawyers 230 

Anecdotes  of  Choate,  Ingersoll,  and  Evarts — Foraker's 
Joke  on  Dan  Voorhees — Negro  Judges  in  South  Carolina 
— Challenging  the  Judge — Funny  Verdicts. 

Evarts — Conkling — Governor  Hill.  ...    245 

Many  Legal  Anecdotes — Depew  Tells  about  Evarts  and 
Bancroft — Evarts's  Pig  Pork — Chief  Justice  Wake  on 
Conkling  —  W.  S.  Groesbeck  and  Senator  Boutwell's 
Speeches  at  Johnson's  Impeachment. 

Henry  Ward  Beeciier's  Humor 251 

He  Makes  Fun  of  his  Poverty — His  Joke  on  Dana — His 
Everyday  Humorous  Talk  and  Life. 

Gough's  Wit  and  Pathos 256 

His  Fall  and  Rise — Many  Gough  Anecdotes — How  He  made 
his  Audiences  Weep  and  Laugh — Cigars  in  his  Hat. 

A  Night  with  Jolly  Rebels 261 

Eli  Talks  to  Old  Rebel  Soldiers — Stories  of  old  Zeb  Vance, 
Fitz  Hugh  Lee,  Judge  Olds,  Tom  Allen,  and  Bob 
Toombs — The  Pennsylvania  Dutchman  and  Freedman 
Bureau   School    Marm. 

Political  Anecdotes  and  Incidents  270 

General  Butler  and  Sam  Cox — Geo.  W.  Curtis's  Anti-climax 
— Garfield's  Irishman  —  McKinley's  Interruption — General 
Alger's  Story  on  the  Democrat — Blaine's  Kilmaroo   Story 


Via  CONTENTS. 

— Eli  on  the  Prohibitionist — Horr  on  the  Mugwumps — Dan 
Voorhees  on  the  Darky — Lincoln  on  Ben  Wade — Yoorhees 
on  Tanner — Ben  Wade  Disgraces  a  Democrat — Aristippus, 
the  Greek  Politician. 

Fi'N  Up  in  Nova  Scotia 282 

Lecture  Experiences  in  Acadia — Riding  over  Longfellow's 
Basin  of  Minas — Nova  Scotia  Potato  Bugs — The  Acadians 
Lie  to  Eli — Uncle  Hank  Allen's  Biggest  Potato  Bug  Story. 

Eli  On  Children's  Wit  and  Blunders 286 

Scientific  Lecture  before  the  Anthropological  Section  of  the 
American  Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science, 
Columbia  College,  as  reported  in  the  World. 

From  College  to  Cowboy 292 

Funny  Introductions — The  College  Senior  Rattled — Lectur- 
ing on  Gettysburg  Battlefield — With  the  Cheyenne  Cow- 
boys— Dead  Shot  Bill — A  Joke  or  Your  Life — Poker  in 
the  Cheyenne  Sabbath  School — Back  to  Sweet  Berea — 
Lecturing  a  Princeton  Foot-ball  Team — Doubtful  Compli- 
ment at  Portsmouth — Why  I  Write  Books. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  AND  THANKS. 


DURING  the  last  thirty  years,  while  preparing  this 
volume,  the  ^author  has  listened  to  thousands  of  anec- 
dotes, reminiscences,  and  funny  experiences  from  the 
lips  of  the  following  witty,  wise,  and  eloquent  thinkers, 
now  dead : 

Charles  Sumner,  Abraham  Lincoln,  Generals  Grant, 
Sherman,  Sheridan,  Kilpatrick,  and  Admiral  Farragut ; 
Beecher,  Conkling,  Garfield,  Geo.  Bancroft,  John  B. 
Gough,  Wendell  Phillips,  Wm.  R.  Travers,  August  Bel- 
mont, Prof.  Proctor,  Ben.  Wade,  Robt.  Toombs,  Thad. 
Stevens,  Artemus  Ward,  Nasby,  Josh  Billings,  Ben: 
Perlcy  Poore,  John  G.  Saxe. 

The  following  living  thinkers  will  recognize  many 
stories  and  anecdotes  which  they  have  told  to  me,  and 
will  receive  my  thanks : 

Dr.  Colyer,  Talmage,  Lyman  Abbott,  Dwight  L. 
Moody,  Bishop  H.  C.  Potter,  Sam  Jones,  Prof.  Swing, 
ex-Gov.  A.  G.  Curtin,  Gen.  Butler,  R.  G.  Ingcrsoll, 
Chauncey  M.  Depcw,  Wm.  M.  Evarts,  General  Alger, 
Dr.  Hammond,  Horace  Porter,  Chief  Justice  Fuller, 
Daniel  Dougherty,  Dan'l  Voorhics,  ex-Gov.  Foraker, 
G.  W.  Curtis,  Proctor  Knott,  Fitz  Hugh  Lee,  General 
Howard,  John  Wanamaker,  Jay  Gould,  Roswell  G. 
Horr,  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Will  Carleton,  Eugene 
Field,  Mark  Twain,  J.   W.   Riley,    Bret    Harte,   Alex. 


IX 


x  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  AND    THANKS. 

Sweet,  John  Habberton,  Geo.  W.  Cable,  and  George 
Thatcher. 

I  have  also  used  the  best  wit  transcribed  by  others 
from  the  lips  of  Tom  Corwin,  Randolph,  Seba  Smith, 
Tom  Hood,  Chas.  Lamb,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  Talley- 
rand, Cervantes,  Dean  Swift,  Juvenal,  Aristippus,  and 
Diogenes. 

The  author  desires  to  acknowledge  the  inspiration 
and  aid  he  has  received  from  the  pens  of  the  following 
makers  of  American  wit  and  humor: 

"Josh  Billings"— Henry  W.  Shaw. 

"  Andrew  Jack  Downing  " — Seba  R.  Smith. 

"  Artemus  Ward  " — Charles  Farrar  Browne. 

"Bill  Arp"— Charles  H.  Smith. 

"  Gath  " — George  Alfred  Townsend. 

"  Fat  Contributor  "—A.  Miner  Griswold. 

"  Hawkeye  Man  " — Robert  J.  Burdette. 

"  Howadjii  "  — George  William  Curtis. 

"  Ik  Marvel  "—Donald  Grant  Mitchell. 

"John  Paul"— Charles  H.  Webb. 

"  John  Phoenix  " — Capt.  George  H.  Derby. 

"  Mark  Twain  " — Samuel  L.  Clemens. 

"  Max  Adler  "—Charles  H.  Clark. 

"  Petroleum  V.  Nasby  " — David  Ross  Locke, 

"  Bill  Nye  "—Edgar  W.  Nye. 

"  Danbury  News  Man  "— Jas.  M.  Bailey. 

"Old  Si  "—Samuel  W.  Small. 

"Orpheus  C.  Kerr  "—Robert  H.  Newell. 

"  Miles  O'Reilly  "—Charles  G.  Halpin. 

"  Peter  Parley  "— H.  C.  Goodrich. 

"  Ned  Buntline  "—Col.  Judson. 

"  Brick  Pomeroy  " — M.  M.  Pomeroy. 

"  Josiah  Allen's  Wife  "—Marietta  Holley. 

"  Doesticks  " — Mortimer  M.  Thompson. 

"  Mrs.  Partington  " — Benj.  P.  Shillaber. 

"  Spoopendyke  " — Stanley  Huntley. 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS  AND    THANKS.  xl 

"  Uncle  Remus  " — Joel  Chandler  Harris. 

"  Hosea  Bigelow  " — James  Russell  Lowell. 

"  Fanny  Fern  " — Sara  Payson  Willis. 

"  Grand  Father  Lickshingle  "—Robert  W.  Criswell. 

"  M.  Quad  " — Charles  B.  Lewis. 

The  object  of  the  book  is  to  give  the  people  the  best 
anecdotes,  the  best  wit  and  humor,  and  the  brightest 
sayings  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  to  transmit  them 

to  posterity. 

Melville  D.  Laxdon, 
"Eli  Perkins." 

208  West  End  Avenue,  New  York. 


ELI   PERKINS-THIRTY  YEARS 

OE  WIT. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  MEN. 


Charles  Sumner  on  Leibnitz  and  Kepler — Talks  with  Josh  Billings,  Sam 
Jones,  Mark  Twain,  Danbury  News  Man,  and  Bill  Arp. 

MY  first  intention  was  to  write  an  autobiography,  for  I 
have  had  an  eventful  life.  But  biography  is  always 
dry,  while  reminiscences,  jokes,  and  anecdotes  are  al- 
ways charming.  So  I  toss  aside  the  autobiography  and 
commence  with  the  more  humorous  and  entertaining 
auto-reminiscences  and  quaint  laugh-provoking  inci- 
dents which  I  have  witnessed. 

If  the  reader  really  wants  to  know  the  history  of 
the  writer  he  will  find  it  condensed  below  in  a  foot 
note,  as  given  in  Spofford's  'Library  of  American 
Writers."* 

*  A.  R.  Spofford,  Librarian  of  Congress,  in  his  "  Library  of 
American  Writers,"  gives  this  biography  of  Mr.  Landon  : 

Melville  D.  Landon  (Eli  Perkins),  was  born  in  Eaton,  N.  Y.,  in 
1840,  passed  the  Sophomore  year  at  Madison  University,  and 
graduated  at  Union  College  in  1861. 

The  next  week  after  graduating  Secretary  Chase  gave  him  an 
appointment  in  the  U.  S.  Treasury.  After  Sumpter  was  fired  upon 
Mr.  Landon  assisted  in  organizing  and  served  in  the  Clay  Battalion. 
Resigning  from  the  Treasury  he  went  on  to  General  A.  L.  Chetlain's 


2  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

I  can  hardly  recall  the  name  of  a  distinguished  man 
in  America  that  I  have  not  met.  I  remember  of  talk- 
ing with  Wm.  H.  Seward  in  1861,  while  he  swung  in  a 
hammock  in  the  back  yard  of  his  Lafayette  Square 
house — the  very  house  where  Sickles  killed  Philip  Bar- 
ton Key  and  which  is  now  occupied  by  Secretary  Blaine. 
Senator  Sumner  lived  then  just  across  on  the  corner, 
and  he  was  always  delighted  to  talk  with  college  boys. 
I  remember  how  Sumner  had  three  hobbies,  and  they 
were  a  cosmopolite  decimal  currency,  cosmopolite 
decimal  weights  and  measures,  and  a  cosmopolite  lan- 
guage— that  is,  a  common  language  for  all  diplomats. 
Then  he  used  to  tell  us  a  story  about  how  Leibnitz 
went  to  the  great  philosopher  Kepler  to  show  him  a 
cosmopolite  sign  language. 

staff  in  Memphis.  In  1864  he  resigned  from  the  army  and  engaged 
in  cotton  planting  in  Arkansas  and  Louisiana ;  the  last  year  culti- 
vating 1 700  acres. 

In  1867  Mr.  Landon  went  abroad,  traveling  over  Europe  into 
Russia  and  down  the  Volga  into  Kazan.  While  in  Russia  he  was 
chosen  by  General  Cassius  M.  Clay,  then  Minister  to  Russia,  as  Sec- 
retary of  Legation  to  St.  Petersburg. 

On  returning  to  America,  in  1870,  his  first  public  writing  was  a 
history  of  the  Franco-Prussian  war,  published  by  G.  W.  Carleton, 
following  it  with  numerous  humorous  writings  for  the  public  press 
under  the  nom  de  plume  of  "  Eli  Perkins."  His  humorous  writings 
in  the  Commercial  Advertiser  in  1872  made  his  fame  world-wide. 
Under  the  name  of  "  Eli  Perkins  "  he  has  published  several  books, 
among  them  "  Saratoga  in  1901,"  Sheldon  &  Co.;  "  Wit,  Humor, 
and  Pathos,"  Belford  Clark  Co.;  "Wit  and  Humor  of  the  Age," 
Western  Publishing  House,  Chicago,  and  "  Kings  of  Platform  and 
Pulpit,"  Belford  Clark  Co.,  Chicago.  The  grandfather  of  the  hu- 
morist was  Rufus  Landon,  a  revolutionary  soldier  from  Litchfield 
County,  Connecticut,  where  his  father,  John  Landon,  was  born 
Mr.  Landon  resides  at  208  West  End  Avenue,  New  York. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  At EN.  3 

"Leibnitz  arrived  at  Kepler's  house,"  said  Sumner, 
"and  asked  him  to  send  him  some  smart,  shrewd  old 
philosopher,  and  with  him  he  would  illustrate  his  new 
cosmopolite  language.  When  the  old  philosopher  (who 
was  old  Jim  the  fisherman)  came,  Leibnitz  told  Kepler 
that  he  would  hold  a  philosophical  discussion  with  him 
in  his  new  language  of  signs. 

"When  old  Jim  came,  Leibnitz  held  up  one  finger,  to 
denote  one  God. 

"Then  old  Jim  held  up  two  fingers,  while  Leibnitz 
rubbed  his  hands  in  great  glee,  saying,  'See!  he  under- 
stood me.  He  means  there  is  a  plurality  of  gods.  Mag- 
nifique  /' 

"Leibnitz  now  held  up  three  fingers  to  denote  the 
Trinity;  and  old  Jim  put  up  his  fist  with  his  fingers 
all  together,  while  Leibnitz  said,  'He  means  the  three 
in  one — Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost.     Beautiful!' 

"Leibnitz  now  handed  old  Jim  an  apple,  to  denote 
the  'fallen  state  of  man,'  and  old  Jim,  much  to  Leib- 
nitz's surprise,  held  up  a  broken  cracker. 

'Splendid,'  said  Leibnitz,  looking  triumphantly  at 
Kepler.  'Why,  when  I  hand  him  the  apple  to  de- 
note the  "fallen  state  of  man,"  he  hands  me  a  cracker 
to  denote  the  "Bread  of  Life."     Wonderful  !* 

"The  next  day,"  said  Sumner,  "Kepler  called  old  Jim 
to  him  and  asked  him  how  he  came  to  understand 
Leibnitz  so  well. 

'Why,  the  man's  a  fool,'  exclaimed  old  Jim.  'He's 
crazy  and  he  insulted  me !' 

"  'What  did  he  say  to  you,'  asked  Kepler. 

'He  held  up  one  finger  to  denote  that  I  had  but 
one  eye ;  and  I  held  up  two  fingers  to  denote  that  my 
one  eye  was  better  than  his  two.' 


4  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OE  WIT. 

'"What  then,  Jim?' 

'  He  held   up  three   fingers    to  indicate  that  with 
my  wooden  leg  I'd  had  three  legs,  and  then  I  doubled 
up  my  fist  and  said  I'll  have  no  more  of  that.' 
"  'And  then?' 

'Why,  the  crazy  rascal  took  out  an  apple  to  de- 
note that  I  ground  nothing  but  apples  in  my  mill ;  but 
I  showed  him  a  cracker  to  prove  to  him  that  I  ground 
the  best  flour  in  England.'  " 


What  a  transformation  from  Sumner  and  Leibnitz  to 
Josh  Billings — but  I  love  an  antithesis. 

Josh  Billings — what  a  wonderful  character! 

I  can  see  the  old  man  now,  with  his  long  hair  and  tall, 
lank  form  leaning  around  on  the  book  counters  at 
Carleton's.  G.  W.  Carleton's,  under  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  was  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  humorists.  There 
you  would  meet  Bill  Arp,  and  Burdette,  and  Nasby, 
and  Artemus  Ward,  for  Carleton  published  all  of  their 
books.  Carleton  is  a  humorist  himself,  and  his  illus- 
trated book  on  Cuba  has  proved  his  inspiration. 

One  day  I  was  talking  with  Uncle  Josh  at  Carleton's. 
During  the  conversation  a  beautiful  young  lady  came 
in  with  a  bundle  of  manuscript,  and  stepping  up  to  the 
publisher  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said: 

"Mr.  Carleton?" 
'Yes,  madame,  what  can   I  do  for  you?" 

"I  want  to  get  you  to  print  a  book  for  me." 
'You  mean  publish  your  book,  don't  you?"  asked 
Mr.  Carleton. 

'Well,  now,  what  is  the  difference  between  printing 
and    publishing    a    book?"    asked    the    young    lady, 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  MEN.  5 

opening     her     eyes    bewilderingly,    as    young    ladies 
often  do. 

"Why,  the  difference  between  publishing  and  print- 
ing," said  Mr.  Carleton,  "is  simply  this:  If  I  should 
print  a  kiss  on  a  beautiful  young  lady's  check  it  would 
simply  be  private  printing;  but  if  I  should  go  out  and 
tell  the  whole  world  about  it,  that  would  be  publish- 
ing, and  the  meanest  kind  of  publishing,  too." 

"I  should  think  so,"  said  the  young  lady. 

Carleton  is  now  in  Japan,  and  having  no  fear  of  him, 
I  publish,  for  the  first  time,  one  of  his  poems,  which  he 
used  to  read  to  us  with  a  very  sad  and  mournful  voice. 

Tis  only  an  infant  pippin, 

Growing  on  a  limb  ; 
'Tis  only  a  typical  small  boy, 

Who  devours  it  with  a  vim. 

'Tis  only  a  doctor's  carriage, 

Standing  before  the  door; 
But  why  go  into  details — 

The  service  begins  at  four. 

While  in  Saratoga,  a  year  before  Josh  Billings  died,  we 
went  up  to  my  room  and  spent  an  entire  afternoon  on 
an  interview.  The  interview  was  a  mutual  production, 
and  was  not  to  be  published  till  he  died.  I  now  give  it 
to  the  public. 

"Mr.  Billings,"  I  commenced,  "where  were  you  edu- 
cated ?" 

"Pordunk,  Pennsylvania." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"I  was  born  150  years  old — and  have  been  growing 
young  ever  since." 

"Are  you  married?" 


ELI  PERKINS—  THIRTY   YEARS   OF  IVIT. 

Once." 

How  many  children  have  you?" 

Doublets." 

What  other  vices  have  you?" 

None." 

Have  you  any  virtues?" 

Several." 

What  are  they?" 

I  left  them  up  at  Poughkeepsie." 

Do  you  gamble?" 

When  I  feel  good." 

What  is  your  profession?" 

Agriculture  and  alminaxing." 

How  do  you  account  for  your  deficient  knowledge 
in  spelling?" 

Bad  spells  during  infancy,  and  poor  memory." 

What  things  are  you  the  most  liable  to  forget?" 

Sermons  and  debts." 

What  professions  do  you  like  best?" 

Auctioneering,  base-ball,  and  theology." 

Do  you  smoke?" 

Thank  you,  I'll  take  a  Partaga  first." 

What  is  your  worst  habit?" 

The  coat  I  got  last  in  Poughkeepsie." 

What  are  your  favorite  books?" 

My  alminack  and  Commodore  Vanderbilt's  pocket- 
book." 

What  is  your  favorite  piece  of  sculpture?" 

The  mile  stone  nearest  home." 

What  is  your  favorite  animal?" 

The  mule." 

Why?" 

Because  he  never  blunders  with  his  heels." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED   MEN.  7 

"What  was  the  best  thing  said  by  our  old  friend 
Artemus  Ward?" 

"All  the  pretty  girls  in  Utah  marry  Young.'" 

"Do  you  believe  in  the  final  salvation  of  all  men?" 

"I  do — let  me  pick  the  men  !" 

In  the  evening  Josh  and  I  reviewed  the  interview, 
and  pronounced  it  faithfully  rendered,  and  then  he  gave 
me  the  following  specimen  of  his  handwriting: 

dha/rt.  12.  2.  Thunps  isn  7/vls  ywrLcC 
[fur  TrAccA  >ve  curt  rwwv- /u/fy 

fillOJtz  izvKbp  uvuLMmy'^a.'f /rapt 
— Tfieyrn&ki.  ^7wa^MrQffal& 


8  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

The  nicest  rebels  I  ever  met  were  "Bill  Arp,"  the 
Southern  humorist,  Sam  Jones,  and  Fitz  Hugh  Lee. 
"Bill  Arp,"  whose  real  name  is  Chas.  H.  Smith,  of  Car- 
tersville,  Ga.,  was  just  as  good  a  rebel  as  Alex.  H 
Stevens,  or  Robert  Toombs,  or  John  B.  Floyd ;  but 
when  I  found  him  on  his  Cartersville  farm,  he  was  fully 
reconstructed. 

Speaking  of  Bill  Arp's  age  to  the  Rev.  Sam  Jones, 
his  neighbor,  he  said  : 

' '  Why,  Bill's  sixty  years  old.  He's  got  nine  children 
of  his  own,  and  if  he  a'nt  the  father  of  American  hu- 
morists it  isn't  his  fault." 

"Is  Bill  really  reconstructed?"  I  asked  Mr.  Jones. 

"Yes,  Bill  has  been  born  again.  He  repented,  but 
Floyd  and  Toombs  were  never  reconstructed.  They 
died  with  their  Confederate  war  paint  on,  and  with 
their  coffins  wrapped  in  the  old  red  and  white  flag  of 
the  Confederacy. 

"Robert  Toombs  and  John  B.  Floyd,"  said  Sam, 
"were  both  members  of  Jeff  Davis's  cabinet.  Once 
they  were  talking  of  where  they  would  like  to  be  buried. 
It  was  after  the  war,  and,  notwithstanding  defeat,  each 
loved  Jeff  Davis  and  the  Confederacy.  They  had  been 
reading  letters  from  R.  Barnwell  Rhett,  John  Slidell, 
and  Henry  A.  Wise,  brother  cabinet  officers. 

"  'When  I  die,'  said  Floyd,  very  seriously,  T  wish  I 
could  be  buried  right  under  that  Confederate  monu- 
ment in  Richmond.' 

"  'What  for?'  asked  Toombs. 

"  'Because  I  want  my  last  sweet  rest  to  be  where  a 
Yankee  will  never  come.' 

"  T  would  be  buried  there,  too,'  said  Toombs,  'but 
I    hate   the    devil   worse  than  I   hate   a  Yankee,  and 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  MEN.  9 

I    almost    wish    I    could    be    buried     in     the    colored 
cemetery.' 

"'Wha— what  for?'  asked  Floyd,  deeply  surprised. 

"'Because,'  said  Toombs,  '  the  devil  will  never 
trouble  me  there.  He'd  never  think  of  looking  for  an 
old  rebel  Democrat  in  a  colored  graveyard  !' 

When  I  asked  Bill  Arp  one  day  if  he  really  killed 
many  Yankees,  he  said  : 

"Well,  I  don't  want  to  boast  about  myself,  but  I  killed 
as  many  of  them  as  they  did  of  me." 

Speaking  of  pensions  one  day,  Mr.  Arp  said: 

"Every  Yankee  soldier  ought  to  have  a  pension." 

"But  they  were  not  all  injured  in  the  army,  were 
they?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  they  all  did  so  much  hard  lying  about  us  poor 
rebels  that  they  strained  their  consciences." 

Fitz  Hugh  Lee  told  me  a  good  story  about  "  Bill  Arp." 

"In  the  summer  of  1863,"  said  Fitz  Hugh,  'Bill 
Arp— we  called  him  Major  Smith  then— was  in  the  Rich- 
mond Hospital.  The  hospital  was  crowded  with  sick 
and  dying  soldiers  and  the  Richmond  ladies  visited 
it  daily,  carrying  with  them  delicacies  of  every  kind, 
and  did  all  they  could  to  cheer  and  comfort  the  suffer- 
ing. On  one  occasion  a  pretty  miss  of  sixteen  was 
distributing  flowers  and  speaking  gentle  words  of  en- 
couragement to  those  around  her,  when  she  overheard 
a  soldier  exclaim  :     'Oh,  my  Lord  !' 

"It  was  Bill  Arp. 

"Stepping  to  his  bedside  to  rebuke  him  for  his  profan- 
ity, she  remarked:  'Didn't  I  hear  you  call  upon  the 
name  of  the  Lord  ?  1  am  one  of  his  daughters.  Is  there 
anything  I  can  ask  him  for  you?' 

"Looking  up  into  her  bright,  sweet  face,  Bill  replied  : 


io  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

'I  don't  know  but  you  could  do  something  for  me  if  I 
wasn't  married.' 

"  'Well,'  said  she,  'what  is  it?' 

"Raising  his  eyes  to  hers  and  extending  his  hand, 
he  said,  'As  you  are  a  daughter  of  the  Lord,  if  I  wasn't 
married,  I'd  get  you  to  ask  him  if  he  wouldn't  make  me 
his  son-in-law.' " 

A  friend  of  mine,  a  writer  on  the  New  York  Sun, 
told  me  how  Bill  Arp  happened  to  surrender.  'You 
know,"  he  said,  "Major  Munson  had  charge  of  the 
Dalton  district,  in  Georgia,  when  the  humorist  sur- 
rendered. It  was  a  hard  thing  for  him  to  do  it,  and  it 
took  him  a  week  or  two  to  come  down  to  it,  but  he  fin- 
ally laid  down  his  sword. 

"  'Most  of  the  "Confeds"  came  in  very  quietly,'  said 
the  major,  'and  seemed  glad  to  have  the  thing  settled, 
but  once  in  a  while  I  struck  a  man  who  hated  to  come 
under.  One  day  a  big,  handsome  man,  with  tangled 
hair,  and  with  Virginia  red  mud  on  his  boots,  came  in 
to  talk  about  surrendering.     It  was  Bill  Arp. 

"  '  "  Doggone  it,  sir,"  he  began,  in  the  Georgia  dialect, 
"I  have  come  in,  sir,  to  see  what  terms  can  be  secured 
in  case  I  surrender." 

"  '  "Haven't  you  surrendered  yet?"  I  inquired. 

"'"No,  sir!  Not  by  a  doggone  sight!  I  said  I'd 
die  in  the  last  ditch,  and  I've  kept  my  word." 

"  '  "Whose  company  did  you  belong  to?" 

"  '  "  Belong !  Belong !  Thunderation  !  I  didn't  belong 
to  any  one's  company !  Why,  sir,  I  fought  on  my  own 
hook." 

"Where  was  it?" 

"  '  "No  matter,  sir;  no  matter.  What  are  your  best 
terms?     Out  with  it!" 


REMINISCENCES  OF'  NO  TED  MEN.  I 1 

"  '  "Unconditional  surrender,"  I  said. 

Terms  don't  suit,"    said   Bill.     "Unconditional? 

No,  sir;  I'll  surrender  to  Spain  or  Mexico.  You  can't 
crush  me.  I  can  be  insulted,  but  not  crushed.  Good- 
day,  sir.  I'll  see  the  United  States  weep  tears  of  blood 
before  I'll  surrender.  Haven't  a  card,  but  my  name  is 
Arp— Colonel  Bill  Arp." 

"  'He  went  off,  but  in  about  a  week  he  returned  and 
began : 

"  '  "As  the  impression  seems  to  be  general  that  the 
Southern  Confederacy  has  been  crushed,  I  called  to  see 
what  terms  would  be  granted  me  in  case  I  concluded 
to  lay  down  my  sword." 

"  '  "Unconditional  surrender,"  I  briefly  replied. 

"  '  "Then,  doggone  it,  sir,  I'll  never  lay  it  down  while 
life  is  left.  The  cause  is  lost,  but  principle  remains. 
You  can  inform  General  Sheridan  that  Bill  Arp  refuses 
to  surrender." 

"  'Colonel  Arp  returned  two  weeks  later.  He  seemed 
to  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  as  his  uniform  was  in  rags 
and  his  pockets  empty. 

"  '  "  Look  a-here,  Captain,"  he  said,  as  he  came  in,  "  I 
don't  want  to  prolong  this  bloody  strife,  but  am  fo'ced 
to  do  so  by  honor.  If  accorded  reasonable  terms,  I 
might  surrender.     What  do  you  say?" 

"  '  "The  same  as  before." 

"  '  "Then  you  are  determined  to  grind  us  to  powder, 
eh  ?  Sooner  than  submit.  I'll  shed  the  rest  of  my  blood  ! 
Send  on  your  armies,  Captain.     I  am  ready  for  'em!" 

"  'Just  a  week  from  that  day,  Colonel  Arp  came  in 
again,  said  he'd  like  to  surrender,  drew  his  rations  with 
the  rest,  and  went  off  in  great  good-humor  to  his  Car- 
tcrsville  farm,'  " 


12  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Mark  Twain  can  tell  a  humorous  story  as  if  it  were 
a  funeral  dirge.  I  met  him  once  with  a  party.  Each 
had  told  a  sea  story  and  Mark  was  asked  to  tell  one 
too. 

"A  true  story?"  asked  the  humorist. 

"Why,  of  course." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  he  commenced,  with  that  won- 
derful drawl,  "I  was  once  crossing  the  Atlantic  on 
one  of  the  stanchest  ships  of  the  Anchor  line.  We 
had  ridden  for  days  in  an  utter  calm.  One  day,  when 
we  were  all  fanning  ourselves,  telling  anecdotes,  and 
narrating  religious  experiences,  a  terrible  storm  broke 
over  the  vessel.  Billows  mountains  high  dashed  over 
us,  the  rudder  was  torn  off,  the  masts  fell,  the  waters 
roared  in  torrents  through  the  scuppers,  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  the  ship  settled,  lunged  forward  on  her  beam 
ends,  and  sank  out  of  sight  in  sixty  fathoms  of  water, 
every  soul  on  board  going  down  with  her." 

After  the  wonder  had  somewhat  subsided,  Joaquin 
Miller,  the  poet,  came  up  to  the  humorist  and  said : 

"You  did  not  tell  us  how  you  escaped,  Mr.  Twain." 

"I  didn't  escape!"  exclaimed  Mark,  "I  was  drowned 
with  the  rest." 

Mr.  David  Welcher  tells  me  that  Mark  Twain,  when 
in  a  good  humor,  told  him  the  story  of  his  courtship, 
and  how  he  won  his  beautiful  and  wealthy  wife.  She 
was  a  Miss  Langdon  of  Elmira.  When  Mark  first  met 
her,  he  was  not  so  distinguished  as  now;  his  origin  was 
humble,  and  for  some  years  of  his  life  he  had  been 
a  pilot  on  the  Mississippi  River.  The  future  Mrs. 
Clemens  was  a  woman  of  position  and  fortune ;  her 
father  was  a  judge,  and  doubtless  expected  "family" 
and  social  importance  in  his  son-in-law.     Clemens>  how- 


REMINISCENCES   OF  NOTED   .VEX.  1 3 

ever,  became  interested  in  his  daughter,  and  after  a 
while  proposed,  but  was  rejected. 

"Well,"  he  said  to  the  lady,  "I  didn't  much  believe 
you'd  have  me,  but  I  thought  I'd  try." 

After  ;i  while  he  "tried"  again,  with  the  same  result ; 
and  then  remarked,  with  his  celebrated  drawl,  "I  think 
a  great  deal  more  of  you  than  if  you'd  said  'Yes,'  but 
it's  hard  to  bear."  A  third  time  he  met  with  better 
fortune,  and  then  came  to  the  most  difficult  part  of 
his  task — to  address  the  old  gentleman. 

"Judge,"  he  said  to  the  dignified  millionaire,  "have 
you  seen  anything  going  on  between  Miss  Lizzie  and 
me?" 

"What?  What?"  exclaimed  the  judge,  rather 
sharply,  apparently  not  understanding  the  situation, 
yet  doubtless  getting  a  glimpse  of  it  from  the 
inquiry. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  going  on  between  Miss 
Lizzie  and  me?" 

"No,  indeed,"  replied  the  magnate  sternly.  "No, 
sir,  I  have  not." 

"Well,  look  sharp  and  you  will,"  said  the  author  of 
"Innocents  Abroad";  and  that's  the  way  he  asked  the 
judicial  luminary  for  his  daughter's  hand. 

And  Mark,  to  this  day,  has  never  ceased  to  con- 
gratulate himself  on  the  shrewd  and  business-like  man- 
ner that  he  conducted  his  case,  and,  like  a  clever  diplo- 
mat won  a  wise  judge  and  a  lovely  wife  at  the  same 
time. 


What  of  Sam  Jones? 

Sam  Jones  lives  in  Cartersville,  Ga.,  and  is  a  neighbor 
of  Bill  Arp.     Mr.  Jones  told  me  that  he  was  once  a 


14  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

lawyer,  but  he  says  he  afterward  repented  and  became 
a  Methodist  clergyman. 

One  day  I  asked  Mr.  Jones  why  he  was  a  prohibi- 
tionist. 

"Because,"  he  said,  "to  be  a  Christian  you  must  be  a 
prohibitionist.  I  don't  mean  a  third  party  man ;  but 
you  must  be  a  man  that  is  against  everything  that 
favors  whisky,  and  in  favor  of  everything  that  is 
against  it. 

"The  fact  is,"  continued  Sam,  "this  whisky  question 
has  got  to  be  settled.  There  was  lots  of  blood  spilled 
in  this  country  to  make  free  men  out  of  4,000,000 
slaves,  and  I  don't  see  anything  wrong  in  a  little  more 
blood  being  spilled  to  save  the  women  and  children 
from  the  misery  and  sufferings  that  result  from  this 
damnable  traffic.  I  don't  care  when  the  fight  comes. 
I  am  willing  to  get  at  the  head  of  the  procession  with 
my  rifle." 

Mr.  Jones  makes  a  great  deal  of  money  out  of  his 
lectures,  but  not  so  much  out  of  his  preaching;  still 
he  has  very  little  love  for  money. 

"Are  you  saving  your  money?"  I  asked  the  revivalist 
one  day  on  the  train. 

"Saving  my  money!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  for? 
Why,  a  man  who  saves  money  is  a  miser.  Christ 
didn't  have  a  bank  account.  Josh  Billings  says  the 
old  miser  that  has  accumulated  his  millions  and  then 
sits  down  with  his  millions  at  last,  without  any  capacity 
for  enjoying  it,  reminds  him  of  a  fly  that  has  fallen 
into  a  half-barrel  of  molasses.  There  you've  got  the 
picture  just  as  complete  as  Josh  Billings  ever  drew  a 
picture. 

"No,  sir,"    continued    Sam,     "I    never    had    much 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  MEN.  <5 

money — never  will,  I  reckon.  I  saw  in  the  papers  some 
time  ago  where  a  man  had  died  in  North  Carolina  and 
left  Sam  Jones  a  wonderful  legacy — and  all  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  was  at  home  at  the  time.  Several  of  my 
friends  ran  up  with  the  paper,  and  said : 

"  'Sam,  did  you  see  this?' 
'Yes.' 

"  'What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?' 
'I  ain't  going  to  do  anything.' 
'Well,  I'd  write  on  and  tell  them  where  you  are.' 
'No  sir,'  said  I,  'I  am  getting  on  right  well  without 
a  legacy,  and  God  knows  what  I'd  do  if  I  had  one.     I 
am  getting  on  so  well  without  one  that  I  don't  want  to 
fool  with  one. 

'"Don't  you  see?  I  want  you  all  to  have  legacies 
and  live  in  fine  houses,  and  I  will  go  around  and  take 
dinner  with  you,  and  let  you  pay  the  taxes  and 
servants,  and  I  will  enjoy  the  thing.  Don't  you  see? 
That  is  a  good  idea,  ain't  it?' 

"If  I  get  wealth  without  religion,"  continued  Sam 
thoughtfully,  "why,  I'll  be  poor  in  the  next  world. 
Cornelius  Vanderbilt  was  the  richest  man  that  ever 
bade  America  good-by,  and  stepped  into  eternity.  He 
turned  to  his  oldest  boy  and  passed  $75,000,000  into 
his  hands;  $25,000,000  additional  he  turned  over  to 
the  rest  of  his  heirs,  and  then,  in  his  last  moments, 
turned  to  his  Christian  wife  and  asked  her:  'Wife, 
please  sing 

Come,  ye  sinners,  poor  and  needy  ; 
Weak  and  wounded,  sick  and  sore.' 

"The  richest  man  that  America  ever  produced  ask- 
ing his  wife  to  sing  the  song  of  a  beggar!" 


1 6  ELI  PERKINS-THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

I  do  not  think  there  is  a  man  living  who  can  use  as 
strong  English  as  Sam  Jones,  or,  rather,  as  strong 
Saxon.  The  great  but  pedantic  Dr.  Johnson  once 
said,  speaking  of  one  of  Addison's  essays:  "There  is 
not  virtue  enough  in  it  to  preserve  it  from  putrefac- 
tion." Sam  Jones  would  have  said  in  his  bold  Saxon: 
"There  ain't  wit  enough  in  it  to  keep  it  sweet."  One 
day,  when  the  reporters  had  been  criticising  the  revi- 
valist's Saxon  language,  he  became  indignant,  and  said  : 

"Do  you  want  my  opinion  of  these  reporters  who 
abuse  our  meetings?" 
Yes. 

"Well,  in  my  humble  opinion,  I  will  be  in  heaven 
when  these  miserable  little  reporters  who  malign  me 
are  sitting  on  one  ear  in  hell,  trying  to  keep  cool  by 
fanning  themselves  with  the  other." 

"Do  they  ever  answer  back  to  you  from  the  audience 
when  you  talk  so  savagely?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  often.  Every  now  and  then  a  burnt  sinner 
will  squeal.  Sometimes  they  get  a  good  joke  on  me, 
too.  One  day,  in  St.  Louis,"  continued  the  preacher, 
laughing,  "an  awful  funny  thing  happened.  I  had 
been  attacking  the  gamblers  and  drunkards  for  an 
hour,  and  I  said  a  drunkard  is  lower  than  a  dog. 

"Just  then  a  shabby,  blear-eyed  man  arose  trem- 
blingly, and  started  to  leave  the  church. 

"  'Stop!  young  man,'  I  said.     'Stop!' 

"The  young  man  stood  still,  with  a  thousand  eyes 
on  him. 

"If  you'd  rather  go  to  hell  than  hear  me  preach 
just  go  on  !' 

'Well,'  replied  the  man,  after  a  pause,  T  believe  I'd 
rather.      And  out  he  went. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  MEN.  17 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  chuckled  Sam,  "it  was  a  good  one, 
wasn't  it? 

"The  very  next  night,"  continued  the  preacher,  "I 
saw  the  same  man  in  the  audience.  By  and  bye  I  saw 
him  standing  up. 

"'Well,'  said  I  kindly,  'what  do  you  want,  my 
man?' 

"'I  want  to  know,  Elder,  if  you  think  you  can  get 
the  devil  out  of  me?' 

"  'Oh,  yes,'  I  said,  'but  I  don't  think  it  would  im- 
prove you  any.  The  little  left  would  be  worse  than 
the  devil.'  " 

"I  suppose  you  learn  a  good  deal  from  your 
audiences?"  I  suggested. 

"Oh,  yes.  A  good  old  Christian  lady  rose  one  night 
and  said  she  had  got  repentance. 

"'Do  you  know  what  true  repentance  is,  mother?'  I 
asked. 

"  'Yes.  It  is  being  sorry  for  your  meanness  and  feel- 
ing that  you  ain't  going  to  do  it  any  more.' 

"  'That's  the  best  definition  of  repentance  I  ever 
heard  in  my  life,  mother,'  I  said.  'That  is  repentance. 
Good  Lord,  I  am  so  sorry  for  my  meanness  that  I 
don't  intend  to  do  it  any  more.  And  now,  mother,' 
said  I,  'do  you  know  what  true  religion  is?' 

"'Yes.' 

"  'What?' 

'"It's  this,'  said  the  old  lady:  'If  the  Lord  will 
just  forgive  me  for  it,  I  won't  want  to  do  it  any 
more.' 

"  'Right,  mother!'  said  I.  'There  is  repentance  and 
religion  in  a  nutshell,  so  every  man  in  the  world  can 
get  hold  of  it.'  " 


1 8  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

The  Danbury  News  Man — have  I  met  him? 

Yes,  and  have  letters  from  him.  In  fact,  I  published 
his  lecture,  "England  from  a  Back  Window,"  in  my 
"Kings  of  Platform  and  Pulpit." 

Mr.  Bailey — James  Montgomery  Bailey  is  his  full 
name — told  me  that  he  was  born  in  Albany,  N.  Y.,  in 
1 84 1  ;  he  fought  through  the  war  in  a  Connecticut 
regiment,  and  afterward  made  himself  famous  writing 
for  the  Danbury  News. 

Mr.  Bailey's  wit  has  a  delicious  mental  flavor.  In 
fact,  it  is  always  the  shrewd,  thoughtful  man  who  en- 
joys it.  It  is  not  in  long,  inane  dialogues,  but  a  flash 
of  thought.  The  humorist  says  a  poor  man  came  to 
him  with  tears  in  his  eyes  one  day,  asking  for  help  for 
his  destitute  and  starving  children. 

"What  do  you  need  most?"  asked  Mr.  Bailey. 

"Well,  we  need  bread,  but  if  I  can't  have  that  I'll 
take  tobacco." 

One  day  a  solemn  and  religious  Danbury  man  hailed 
a  charcoal  peddler  with  the  query: 

"Have  you  got  charcoal  in  your  wagon?" 
'Yes,  sir,"  said   the   expectant  driver,  stopping   his 
horses. 

'That's  right,"  observed  the  religious  man,  with  an 
approving  nod,  "always  tell  the  truth  and  people  will 
respect  you." 

And  then  he  closed  the  door  just  in  time  to  escape 
a  brick  hurled  by  the  wicked  peddler. 

"Speaking  of  lazy  men,"  said  Mr.  Bailey,  "we  have  a 
man  in  Danbury  so  lazy  that  instead  of  shoveling  a 
path  to  the  front  gate  he  pinches  the  baby's  ear  with 
the  nippers  till  the  neighbors  come  rushing  in  to  tread 
down  the  snow." 


REMINISCENCES  OF  NOTED  MEN.  19 

A  Danbury  man  was  bargaining  for  a  house  of  old 
McMastcrs,  and  asked  him  if  the  house  was  cold. 

"Cold,"  said  the  old  man  cautiously,  "I  can't  say  as 
to  that ;  it  stands  out  doors." 

Speaking  of  the  Indian  raids,  says  Bailey:  "The 
Modocs  have  made  another  raid  on  our  people,  and 
murdered  them.  If  ever  our  government  gets  hold  of 
these  savages,  gets  them  right  where  they  cannot 
escape,  gets  them  wholly  into  its  clutches — some  con- 
tractor will  make  money." 

Mr.  Bailey's  humor  also  consists  in  truthful  descrip- 
tions of  domestic  life.  His  descriptions  are  so  true 
that  they  are  absolutely  photographed  on  the  mind  of 
the  reader.  One  can  close  his  eyes  and  see  with  his 
mind's  eye  the  very  scenes  depicted. 


GENERAL   SHERMAN'S   ANECDOTES 
AND   JOKES. 


Sherman  on  John  Phoenix,  Wm.  R.  Travers,  General  Scott,  General 
Kilpatrick,  Admiral  Farragut,  and  General  Howard — His  Joke  on 
the  Ghost  Dancers,  Garfield,  the  Irish  Soldier,  and  Tennessee 
Women. 

WHILE  preparing  my  book  "Kings  of  Platform 
and  Pulpit,"  I  had  a  good  many  pleasant  talks 
with  General  Sherman.  Our  houses  were  near  each 
other  (the  general  living  at  75  West  Seventy-first  Street, 
and  my  house  being  208  West  End  Avenue).  Then 
again  I  was  on  General  A.  L.  Chetlain's  staff  in 
Memphis,  when  the  general  was  making  his  march  to 
the  sea.  I  had  met  General  Sherman  often  in  war 
time  and  knew  many  of  our  Western  generals ;  knew  all 
about  the  social  and  political  status  of  Tennessee, 
Georgia,  and  South  Carolina,  and  General  Sherman 
was  glad  to  talk  over  his  old  war  reminiscences  and 
jokes  with  any  one  who  could  appreciate  his  stories. 

General  Sherman  was  the  brightest  man  I  ever  met. 
He  was  always  gleeful.  He  had  been  with  Lieutenant 
George  H.  Derby  (John  Phoenix)  in  San  Diego  away 
back  in  the  forties,  and  really  brought  the  genius  of 
the  San  Diego  humorist  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
public.  That  was  the  commencement  of  American 
humor.  Afterward  came  Jack  Downing,  Lowell's 
Bigelow  Papers,  Ward,  Billings,  Twain,  Nye,  and  the 
rest. 


GENERAL   SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  21 

One  day,  after  the  general  had  told  several  good 
stories,  I  begged  him  to  let  me  publish  them  in  the 
book  which  1  was  then  writing. 

"No,  no!"  he  said.  "I  want  to  keep  them  for  my 
private  friends.  You  know  I  dine  out  about  as  much 
as  Depew,  and  they  always  expect  a  new  story." 

As  soon  as  my  book  was  out,  containing  a  few  of 
the  general's  stories,  with  the  hundreds  of  others,  he 
sent  me  this  letter — about  the  last  rolicksomc  letter  he 
ever  wrote : 

^Lw^.  .  Ah.     ^^j^,    i7     (&;/Ljb^j 

&l  Ay   £-~b-   h*~~   /c^r'  cstti^  , 

/         O    -y/  '    /  /    r— >     *-    '  r 


22  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  W IT. 

UrXLr-r~-      ^.^       cr??zix_^_,     erf 

/  ^    ^^        •   ,  r--  -    /• 


£-if/L&z^        s~L*--  c^tsQ.  e*~~~,       A*- 


^L  -_  4^-  -    /^~£7 


__  t2^i~<s—z>^^~-  /  /** — 


fvJu>,  ^~~y      UT^U,     o/. 


GENERAL   SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  23 


As  George  Alfred  Townsend  said  of  Miles  O'Riley, 
"there  was  a  splendid  boyishness"  about  Sherman. 
He  was  always  ready  with  a  pun,  a  sparkling  bit  of 
repartee,  or  a  strong  thought — a  very  David  with  the 
sword  and  tongue. 

"One  of  my  happiest  hits,"  said  the  general,  a  week 
before  death  called  him  away,  "was  the  way  I  man- 
aged those  Charleston  rebels  when  they  asked  me  if 
they  couldn't  put  Jeff  Davis's  name  in  the  prayer-book, 
and  pray  for  the  Confederate  President  in  their 
churches. 

"  'Want  to  pray  for  Jeff  Davis,  do  you?'   I  asked. 

"  'Yes;  we  can't  pray  for  Lincoln.' 
'Well,'  said  I,  'just  you  go  and  pray  for  old  Jeff- 
He  needs  it  /'  " 

'Did  they  continue  to  pray  for  Jeff?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know;  but  if  they  did  their  prayers 
weren't  answered.  Perhaps  they  were  offset  by  the 
prayers  of  the  negroes.  The  negroes  were  always 
loyal.     Until  the  army  arrived   they  had   never  heard 


^4  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

us  called  by  any  other  name  than  Yankees,  and  the 
rebels  always  added  the  expletive  'damn'  to  us.  That 
is,  they  always  called  us 'Damn  Yankees.'  One  night 
one  of  my  staff  officers  heard  the  negroes  praying,  and 
one  old  negro  ended  up  his  prayer  with  a  hearty : 

'0  Lord,  bress  de  damn  Yankees — guide  them  to 
us !' 

"Another  negro,"  continued  the  general,  "prayed 
like  this : 

'O  Lord,  we  bress  you  for  senden'  us  Gin'ral  Sher- 
man. He's  one  of  us,  O  Lord.  He  may  have  a  white 
skin,  but  he's  got  a  black  heart.' 

"If  the  rebels  prayed  for  us,"  said  the  general, 
"they  prayed  for  us  as  Mr.  Travers  once  bet  on  John 
Morrissey's  horse.  Mr.  Morrissey  believed  in  the 
theory  'like-me,  like-my-dog,'  and  believed  every  one 
of  his  friends  was  in  duty  bound  to  bet  on  his  horse 
at  the  Saratoga  races.  One  day  he  asked  Travers  to 
bet  on  his  horse,  and  the  stammering  banker  promised 
to  do  it.  The  next  day  Morrissey's  horse  lost  the  race, 
and  the  man  who  had  whipped  Heenan  came  up  to 
Travers  all  humiliation. 

'I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Travers,'  he  said,  'that  you  lost  on 
my  horse — very  sorry.' 

'YV-w-why,  I  d-d-didn't  lose,'  said  Travers. 
'  'Then    you    didn't    bet     on    him,    after    all,'  said 
Morrissey,  with  an  injured  look. 

'Y-y-yes,  I  b-bet  on  him,  b-b-but — I  bet  he'd  lo-lo- 
ose ! 

A  month  before  the  general  died  we  had  the  ghost 
dance  war  in  the  West.  The  Indians  were  having  their 
ghostly  dances  in  Dakota,  and  the  report  had  come  in 


GENERAL    SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  25 

that  General  Miles's  men  had  killed  Sitting  Bull  near 
the  Pine  Ridge  Agency. 

"  Been  killing  more  Indians  out  West  again,  General," 
I  remarked,  handing  him  a  newspaper. 

"Yes,  the  newspapers  kill  a  good  many  Injuns. 
They  kill  more  than  the  troops  do.  Why,  if  we  killed 
half  as  many  Injuns  as  the  newspapers  do,  we'd  be- 
short  of  Injuns  !" 

"Is  it  right  to  kill  these  Indians:-"    I  asked. 

"Dancing  Injuns,  ain't  they?     Ghost  dancers?" 

"Yes." 

"Well  now,  Eli,"  said  the  general,  with  mock  gravity, 
"hasn't  Sam  Jones,  and  Moody,  and  the  entire  Metho- 
dist Church  been  trying  to  break  up  dancing  for  years? 
Of  course  they  haven't  succeeded.  Now  I'm  glad 
that  the  strong  arm  of  the  government  has  at  last 
united  with  the  Church  and  taken  hold  of  this  dancing 
question.  I  hope  General  Miles  will  kill  or  convert 
every  dancer  west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  then  I  hope 
the  Secretary  of  War  will  call  on  General  Howard  to 
arrest  the  dancers,  white  or  Injun,  in  the  east— in  New 
York  and  Philadelphia.  I  tell  you,  Eli,  dancing  and 
chicken  stealing  must  be  stopped  in  this  country." 

When  we  consider  that  the  only  thing  Sitting  Bull 
and  the  Sioux  Indians  had  done  to  bring  on  the  last 
war  was  to  dance,  ami  that  all  the  army  did  was  to 
stop  that  dancing,  we  can  appreciate  the  satire  of  the 
general. 

"That  was  a  terrible  satire  on  the  army  that  the  news- 
paper paragraphs  put  into  Sitting  Bull's  mouth  the 
day  before  they  killed  him,"  continued  the  general. 

"What  was  it,  General?"   I  asked,  much  amused,  for 


26  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

I  wrote  the  satire  myself  and  had  used  it  a  thousand 
times. 

"Well,  the  wicked  paragrapher  said  that  when  Sitting 
Bull  was  under  arrest  they  asked  him  if  he  had  any 
great  grievance? 

"The  old  soldier  killer,  who  was  in  the  Custer  mas- 
sacre, was  silent.  But  by  and  bye  he  clutched  his  toma- 
hawk and  said:  'Indian  very  sensitive.  Indian  no  like 
being  lied  about.  If  Indian  ever  get  back  to  the  white 
man  again,  he'll  scalp  the  white-livered  son  of  a  gun 
who's  been  telling  around  that  Sitting  Bull  graduated 
at  West  Point:  " 

The  fun-loving  general  was  apparently  as  serious 
about  dancing  as  he  was  about  chicken  stealing  in  the 
army,  as  illustrated  in  the  following  story : 

"While  at  Bowling  Green,"  said  General  Veatch,  who 
commanded  at  Memphis  previous  to  General  Chetlain, 
' '  the  rebel  women  bothered  us  to  death.  It  was  always 
the  same  old  complaint — '  the  soldiers  have  milked  our 
cows,  or  stolen  our  chickens,  or  "busted"  into  the 
smoke  house.'  Always  the  same  story  through  Tennes- 
see and  Georgia.  At  Chattanooga  the  rebel  women 
seemed  to  bore  Sherman  to  death. 

"One  morning  a  tall,  hatchet-faced  woman,  in  a  faded 
butternut  sunbonnet,  besieged  the  general's  head- 
quarters. 

"  'Well,  my  good  lady,  what  can  I  do  for  you?'  in- 
quired the  general,  as  she  hesitated  at  his  tent 
entrance. 

"'My  chickens,  Gen ' 

" 'Sh — ,  Madame!'  broke  in  the  general.  T  have 
made  up  my  mind,  solemnly  and  earnestly,  that  the 
integrity  of  the  Constitution  and  the  unity  of  this  re,- 


GENERAL    SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  27 

public  shall  be  maintained,  if  it  takes  every — every 
chicken  in  Tennessee  ! 

General  Sherman  was  marching  with  his  army 
through  the  mountain  gaps  of  East  Tennessee.  The 
people  there  are  generous,  but  very  ignorant  and  nat- 
ural. "It  was  the  center  of  civilization — for  clay  eaters 
and  bad  roads,"  said  the  general.  "That  day,"  con- 
tinued the  general,  "we  were  inarching  through 
Claiburn  County,  at  the  foot  of  the  Cumberland 
Mountains,  when  I  met  a  dear  good  old  lady  with  a 
snuff  stick  in  her  mouth. 

"  'Which  way  is  the  county  seat?'  I  asked. 

"  T  didn't  know,'  she  said,  with  a  look  of  wonder- 
ment, 'that  the  county  had  any  seat.' 

"  'What  is  the  population  of  your  county?' 

"  T  dunno,'  said  the  old  lady,  chewing  her  snuff 
stick,  T  rekon  it's  up  in  Kentucky.' 

"  T  suppose  there  are  some  illicit  distilleries  up  in 
these  mountains?'  continued  the  general,  pointing  to- 
ward the  Cumberland. 

"  T  rekon  so,'  said  the  old  lady,  nodding. 

"  'That  is  bad  for  the  people — very  bad.' 

" 'What,  whisky  bad?'  said  the  old  lady,  her  eyes 
opening  with  amazement ;  'why,  whisky  is  the  best 
drink  in  the  world.  That's  what  saved  Bill  Fellers's  life.' 
'  Rut  Bill  Fellers  is  dead — died  five  years  ago,'  inter- 
rupted a  bystander. 

"  'That's  what  killed  him — didn't  drink  any  whisky. 
Poor  Bill,  he  never  knowed  what  killed  him.  How  he 
must  have  suffered  !'  " 

I  belong  to  General  Kilpatrick  Post  of  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic  in  New  York,  and  naturally 
take  an  interest  in  that  great  cavalry  officer.     I  wanted 


28  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

to  get  a  good  story  about  "Kill"  to  tell  the  comrades, 
so  I  remarked  casually  to  the  general : 

"Kilpatrick  was  a  good  fighter,  wasn't  he?" 

"Yes,"  said  Sherman.  "  'Kill'  was  a  good  fighter, 
and  a  great  boaster,  too.  He  had  a  right  to  boast,  but 
he  could  never  boast  stronger  than  he  fought.  One 
day,"  continued  the  general,  "Kilpatrick  was  recount- 
ing his  experience  in  driving  back  rebel  reinforcements 
at  Chancellorsville.  Listening  to  him  was  a  crowd  of 
old  soldiers,  among  whom  was  Moseby. 

"'Why,'  said  Kilpatrick,  'the  woods  swarmed  with 
rebels.     I  had  two  horses  shot  under  me  and ' 

"  'What  did  you  do  then,  Kill?'  asked  Custer. 

"'Why,  I  jumped  on  to  a  Government  mule;  a  ball 
knocked  me  off,  but  the  mule  charged  right  ahead  into 
the  rebel  ranks.  I  never  knew  what  became  of  that 
mule.' 

"  'Why,  General,'  said  Moseby,  'I  saw  that  mule. 
He  came  right  into  our  lines.' 

"  'Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  my  words  confirmed,'  said 
Kilpatrick  seriously.     'Then  you  really  saw  him?' 

"  'Yes,  sure.' 

"'Dead?' 

"'Yes.' 

'"Head  shot  off?' 

"  'No,  died  from  mortification.'  " 

"I  suppose  our  pickets  often  talked  with  the  rebels?" 
I  remarked. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  general,  "and  joked  with  them, 
too.  On  the  evening  before  Hooker's  last  unsuccessful 
attempt  to  storm  Fredericksburg,  one  of  Fitz  Hugh 
Lee's  men  discovered  a  squad  of  Kilpatrick's  cavalry 
and  shouted : 


GENERAL    SHERMAN'S  ANECDQ.TES.  29 

"  'Hello,  Yanks!     Howdy?' 

"  'We're  all  right.     We're  coming  to  see  you  pretty 

quick.' 

'Come  on!'  shouted  Lee's  men.     'We've  got  room 
enough  to  bun-  you  !'  " 

To  illustrate  how  much  the  old  soldier  likes  a  joke, 
even  at  the  expense  of  the  army,  1  give  this.  One  day 
at  the  Milwaukee  Soldiers'  Home,  where  I  had  lectured 
to  600  old  soldiers.  I  went  in  and  talked  with  the 
veterans. 

"You  were  in  a  good  many  battles,"  I  said  to  a 
battle  scarred  private. 

"Yes,  a  good  many.  Seven  Tines,  Chancellorsville, 
the  Wilderness " 

"Well,  what  was  the  bloodiest  battle  you  were  ever 
in?     Where  did  the  balls  fall  the  thickest?" 

"Gettysburg,  sir — Pickett's  charge — the  balls  flew 
like  hailstones— and " 

"Why  didn't  you  get  behind  a  tree?" 

"Get  behind  a  tree!"  repeated  the  old  soldier  indig- 
nantly. "Get  behind  a  tree!  why,  there  wasn't  trees 
enough  for  the  officers!" 

General  Sherman  was  very  fond  of  telling  the  follow- 
ing story  about  General  Thomas.  Many  a  New  York- 
dinner  table  has  listened  to  it. 

"You  see,"  said  the  general,  "  General  Thomas  was 
junior  to  me  in  rank  but  senior  in  service.  'Pap.'  as 
the  boys  called  him,  was  a  severe  disciplinarian.  Well, 
in  the  Atlanta  campaign  he  had  received  many  com- 
plaints about  the  pilfering  and  plundering  committed 
by  one  of  his  brigades,  and,  being  resolved  to  put  this 
offense  down,  he  issued  some  strict  orders,  menacing 
with  death  any  who  should  transgress.     The  brigade 


3°  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

in  question  wore  for  its  badge  an  acorn,  in  silver  or 
gold,  and  the  men  were  inordinately  proud  of  this 
distinctive  sign.  Several  cases  of  disobedience  had 
been  reported  to  the  general,  but  the  evidence  was 
never  strong  enough  for  decisive  action,  until  one  day, 
riding  with  an  orderly  down  a  by-lane  outside  the 
posts,  Thomas  came  full  upon  an  Irishman  who,  having 
laid  aside  his  rifle,  with  which  he  had  killed  a  hog,  was 
busily  engaged  in  skinning  the  animal  with  his  sword- 
bayonet,  so  as  to  make  easy  work  with  the  bristles, 
etc.,  before  cooking  pork  chops. 

'Ah,'  cried  the  general,  'you  rascal,  at  last  I  have 
caught  you  in  the  act.  There  is  no  mistake  about  it 
this  time,  and  I  will  make  an  example  of  you,  sir!' 

"'Bedad!  General!'  said  the  Irishman,  straighten- 
ing himself  up  and  coming  to  the  salute,  'it's  not 
shootin'  me  that  you  ought  to  be  at,  but  rewardin' 
me.' 

"  'What  do  you  mean,  sir?'  exclaimed  General 
Thomas. 

" 'Why,  your  Honor!"  the  soldier  replied, 'this  bad 
baste  here  had  just  been  disicratin'  the  rigimental 
badge;  and  so  I  was  forced  to  dispatch  him.  It's 
'atin'  the  acorns  that  I  found  him  at!' 

"Even  General  Thomas  was  obliged  to  laugh  at 
this,  and  the  soldier  saved  his  life  by  his  wit." 

When  I  asked  General  Sherman  what  was  the 
bravest  thing  he  ever  did,  he  said: 

"Well,  Eli,  I  saved  a  man's  life  once." 

"Who  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"Joe  Jefferson." 

"Why,  how  did  you  save  his  life?" 

"But    I  did,  though,"  continued   Sherman;    "and  I 


GENERAL    SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  31 

look  back  to  it  with  unalloyed  pride  and  pleasure.  It 
is  something  to  be  proud  of,  saving  such  a  life  as 
belonged  to  Joe  Jefferson." 

"How  did  it  happen?     Please  tell  me." 

"Well,"  said  Sherman  solemnly.  "It  occurred  last 
summer.  We  were  both  in  the  parlor  upstairs,  talking 
to  some  ladies.  Joe  had  to  leave  early,  and  excused 
himself.  After  he  went  out  I  noticed  a  bundle  of 
manuscript  on  the  floor.  I  thought  at  first  it  belonged 
to  me,  but  finding  mine  safe,  I  hurried  out  to  the 
elevator  after  Joe,  but  he  had  gone  by  way  of  the 
stairs.  I  halloed  'Joe,  Joe,'  but  he  didn't  hear  me.  I 
ran  down  after  him  two  steps  at  a  time.  1  finally 
caught  up  with  him,  and,  handing  him  the  manuscript, 
said  : 

"  'Here,  Joe,  you've  forgotten  something.' 

"A  serious  expression  spread  over  his  face,  as  he 
took  it,  and  said,  in  a  tremulously  solemn  and  impressive 
voice : 

"  'My  God,  you've  saved  my  life!' 

"It  was  his  autobiography,  which  he  was  engaged 
upon  at  the  time." 

"  Speaking  of  General  Grant's  strategy,"  said  Gen- 
eral Sherman,  "Grant  told  me  that  he  thought  lie 
learned  strategy  from  his  father.  He  said  that  when 
he  was  a  little  boy,  living  on  his  father's  farm  in  Ohio, 
his  father  took  him  into  the  stable  one  day,  where  a 
row  of  cows  stood  in  their  unclean  stalls,  and  said: 

"  'Ulysses,  the  stable  window  is  pretty  high  for  a 
boy,  but  do  you  think  you  could  take  this  shovel  and 
clean  out  the  stable?' 

'I  don't  know,  father,'  said  he;  'I  never  have  done 
it.' 


32  ELI  P EKK I XS— THIRTY   YEARS  OE  WIT.       - 

'Well,  my  boy,  if  you  will  do  it  this  morning,  I'll 
give  you  this  bright  silver  dollar,'  said  his  father, 
patting  him  on  the  head,  while  he  held  the  silver 
dollar  before  his  eyes. 

'Good,'  said  he  ;  'I'll  try  ;'  and  then  he  went  to  work. 
He  tugged  and  pulled  and  lifted  and  puffed,  and  finally 
it  was  done,  and  his  father  gave  him  the  bright  silver 
dollar,  saying: 

'That's  right,  Ulysses,  you  did  it  splendidly;  and 
now  I  find  you  can  do  it  so  nicely,  I  shall  have  you  do 
it  every  morning  all  zvinter.'  " 

One  of  the  very  best  stories  about  General  Sherman, 
and  the  one  above  all  others  that  will  go  into  history, 
is  really  founded  on  fact.  Sherman,  Grant,  Jeff  Davis, 
and  Lee  fought  all  through  the  Mexican  war.  That 
war  added  Texas,  Southern  California,  New  Mexico, 
and  Arizona  to  our  possessions.  No  one  knew  what 
these  new  possessions  were  worth,  for  they  had  never 
been  surveyed.  Well,  after  the  war,  and  Mexico  had 
ceded  the  new  possessions  to  us,  President  Taylor  sent 
Captain  Sherman  out  to  Arizona  and  New  Mexico  to 
survey  them.  Sherman  was  gone  two  years.  He  pene- 
trated the  sandy  deserts  of  Arizona  and  New  Mexico, 
and  looked  over  the  cactus  country  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, and  then  returned  to  Washington,  and  called 
on  the  President. 

'Well,  Captain,"  said  President  Taylor,  "what  do 
you  think  of  our  new  possessions?  will  they  pay  for 
the  blood  and  treasure  spent  in  the  war?" 

"Do  you  want  my  honest  opinion?"  replied  Sher- 
man. 

'Yes,  tell  us  privately  just  what  you  think." 
"Well,    General,"   said    Sherman,   "it    cost    us    one 


GENERAL    SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  33 

hundred  millions  of  dollars,  and  ten  thousand  men  to 
carry  on  the  war  with  Mexico." 

"Yes,  fully  that,  but  we  got  Arizona,  New  Mexico, 
and  Southern  California." 

"Well,  General,"  continued  Sherman,  "I've  been  out 
there  and  looked  them  over, — all  that  country,-  and 
between  you  and  me  I  feel  that  we'll  have  to  go  to 
war  again.     Yes,  we've  got  to  have  another  war." 

"What  for?"  asked  Taylor. 

"Why,  to  make  'em  take  the  darned  country  back!" 

General  Sherman  always  said  with  pride  that  the 
Army  of  the  Tennessee  never  retreated.  They  started  in 
at  Memphis  and  came  out  at  Charleston  and  Wilming- 
ton in  a  fourth  of  the  time  that  it  took  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  to  see-saw  back  and  forth  between  Washing- 
ton and  Richmond.  One  day  after  the  war  the  general 
said  he  was  talking  with  a  veteran  from  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac.  The  soldier  was  describing  the  big  fight 
of  Hooker  at  Chancellorsville. 

"Did  the  rebels  run?"  asked  Sherman. 

"Did  they  run?"  repeated  the  soldier.  "Did  the 
rebels  run?  Great  Scott!  I  should  say  they  did  run. 
Why,  general,  they  run  so  like  thunder  that  we  had  to 
run  three  miles  to  keep  out  of  their  way,  and  if  we 
hadn't  thrown  away  our  guns  they'd  run  all  over  us 
sure !" 

"There  was  one  thing  in  which  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  was  vastly  our  superior,"  said  General  Sher- 
man to  General  Howard,  who  commanded  the  Eleventh 
Corps  when  it  made  its  wild  retreat. 

"What  was  that?"  asked  Howard. 

"Speed,  simple  speed,"  said  the  general,  with  a 
twinkle  of  the  eye. 


34  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"What  kind  of  a  soldier  was  General  Garfield?"  I 
asked  the  general. 

"Good,  generous,  and  brave,  and  never  once  lost 
faith  or  wavered  in  his  belief  that  the  Republic  would 
win.  He  wrote  private  letters  to  Secretary  Chase, 
whom  he  loved  as  he  did  a  father.  These  letters 
criticised  methods,  but  they  expressed  no  doubt  about 
our  ultimate  success. 

"One  of  the  funniest  characters  in  Garfield's  brigade 
was  an  Irish  sentinel  who  was  detailed  on  guard  after 
the  battle  of  Chickamauga.  It  was  his  first  experi- 
ence in  guard  mounting,  and  he  strutted  along  his  beat 
with  a  full  appreciation  of  his  position.  As  a  citizen 
approached  he  shouted  : 

"  'Halt !     Who  comes  there?' 

"'A  citizen!' 

"  'Advance,  citizen,  and  give  the  countersign.' 

"T  haven't  the  countersign;  and  if  I  had,  the 
demand  for  it  at  this  time  and  place  is  something  very 
strange  and  unusual,'  rejoined  the  citizen. 

"  'An'  by  the  howly  Moses,  ye  don't  pass  this  way 
at  all,  be  jabers,  till  ye  say  "Bull  Run,"  '  was  Pat's 
reply. 

"The  citizen,  appreciating  the  'situation,'  advanced 
and  cautiously  whispered  in  his  ear  the  necessary 
words. 

"  'Right !  Pass  on,'  and  the  wide-awake  sentinel 
resumed  his  beat. 

"This  same  sentinel,"  said  Sherman,  "was  afterward 
accused  of  sleeping  on  his  watch.  General  Garfield 
called  the  man  to  his  tent  to  lecture  him  before  his 
court  martial. 

'How  could  you  commit  such  a  crime?'  asked  the 


GENERAL    SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  35 

general.  'Do  you  not  know  that  it  is  death  to  be 
caught  sleeping  on  your  watch?' 

"'It  is  false,' said  the  sentinel.  'How  in  the  divil 
could  I  sleep  on  me  watch  when  it  was  in  the  pawn- 
broker's in  Memphis?' 

"Speaking  of  tact,"  said  the  general,  "tact  saved  a 
good  many  officers  in  the  volunteer  service.  One  day 
Captain  Ward  of  Indiana,  a  fresh  volunteer  officer, 
stepped  up  to  two  soldiers  who  were  practicing  with 
their  rifles. 

'  'See  here,'  he  said,  grasping  a  rifle,  'you  shoot 
wretchedly.     Let  me  show  you  how  to  shoot !' 

[He  shoots  and  misses.] 

"'There,'  he  says,  'that  is  the  way  you  shoot.' 

[Shoots  and  misses  again.] 

"  'And  that  is  the  way  you  shoot,'  turning  to  the 
second  soldier. 

[Shoots  again  and  hits  the  mark.] 

"  'And  that  is  the  way  I  shoot.' 

"This  same  Indiana  captain  was  struggling  along  be- 
fore Atlanta,  almost  worn  out  with  the  march.  When 
he  saw  his  company  in  bad  disorder,  he  gathered  him- 
self together  and  shouted : 

"  'Close  up  there,  boys — doggone  it,  close  up !  If 
the  rebels  should  fire  on  you  when  you're  straggling 
along  that  way,  they  couldn't  hit  a  darn  one  of  you ! 
Close  up !' 

"I  met  the  Indiana  captain's  father  afterward,"  said 
the  general,  "and  asked  him  about  his  son. 

"'Well,  I  have  two  sons,'  he  said,  'and  I've  made  a 
mistake  with  them.  One  is  in  a  bank  and  the  other  is 
in  the  army.  The  one  in  the  bank,  who  ought  to  be 
drawing  drafts,  spends  all  his  time  shooting;  while  the 


36  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

one  in  the  army,  who  ought  to  be  a  good  shot,  is  always 
drawing  drafts  on  me  for  money.'  " 

Speaking  of  Admiral  Farragut  one  evening,  General 
Sherman  said  the  best  thing  happened  to  the  admiral 
in  New  Orleans: 

"You  see,  a  week  after  Farragut  had  taken  the  city, 
he  went  on  shore,  where  he  met  one  of  the  sailors  of 
the  fleet  who  had  been  drinking  too  much.  The 
sailor,  being  intoxicated,  failed  to  salute  the  admiral. 

"  'See  here !'  said  the  admiral,  who  was  very  strict 
in  regard  to  discipline,  'do  you  belong  to  the  United 
States  Navy?' 

" 'Wall  (hie),  I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  (hie) 
not.' 

"'You  don't,  sir?  Well,  what  ship  do  you  belong 
to?* 

"T  don't  (hie)  know  that,  either.' 

"  'Well,  sir,  do  you  know  me?' 

"  'No  (hie)  sir.' 

'"Well,  sir,  I  am  Admiral  Farragut,  commander  of 
the  United  States  Navy.' 

"'Well,  Admiral  (hie),  I  know  one  thing  (hie); 
you've  got  a  good  (hie)  job  !'  " 

"What  was  the  most  humorous  incident  in  the  war?" 
I  asked. 

"What  seemed  to  be  the  most  humorous  thing  to  a 
German  soldier,  seemed  rather  serious  to  me,"  said 
Sherman.  "Among  my  'bummers'  was  a  German 
whom  they  falsely  accused  of  foraging  chickens.  When 
they  arrested  him  he  smiled  all  over.  They  put  him 
in  the  guard  house  and  he  was  in  a  broad  grin.  Finally 
they  bucked  and  gagged  him  and  he  laughed  uproari- 
ously. 


GENERAL   SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  37 

"'What  arc  you  laughing  at,  you  rascal?'  screamed 
the  sergeant. 

"  'Vi  (haw,  haw!)  I  vos  de  (haw,  haw)  wrong  man!' ' 

The  following  anecdote  is  apropos  to  General  Sher- 
man : 

One  morning  in  Saratoga  Governor  Curtin,  the  old 
war  governor  of  Pennsylvania,  now  a  varioloid  Republi- 
can or  mugwump,  sat  down  on  the  States  balcony  by 
Senator  Wade  Hampton,  one  of  the  proudest  of  the 
old  South  Carolina  rebels.  They  are  both  keen  wits, 
and  both  gentlemen  of  the  old  school. 

"I  tell  you,  governor,"  began  General  Hampton 
enthusiastically,  "South  Carolina  is  a  great  State,  sir — 
a  great  State." 

"Yes;  South  Carolina  is  a  State  to  be  proud  of,"  said 
Governor  Curtin.  "I  agree  with  you.  I  knew  a  good 
many  distinguished  people  down  there  myself — and 
splendid  people  they  were,  too— as  brave  as  Julius 
Caesar  and  as  chivalric  as  the  Huguenots." 

"You  did,  sir !"  said  Senator  Hampton,  warming  up 
with  a  brotherly  sympathy.  "Then  you  really  knew 
public  men  who  have  lived  in  our  old  Calhoun  State? 
You  knew  them?" 

"Oh,  bless  you,  yes!"  continued  Governor  Curtin, 
drawing  his  chair  up  confidentially.  "I  knew  some  of 
the  greatest  men  your  State  has  ever  seen — knew  them 
intimately  too,  sir." 

"Who  did  you  know  down  there  in  our  old  Palmetto 
State?"  asked  Senator  Hampton,  handing  Governor 
Curtin  his  cigar  to  light  from. 

"Well,  sir,  I  knew  General  Sherman  and  General 
Kilpatrick,  and " 

"Great   guns!"  interrupted    Senator   Hampton,   and 


3^  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

then  he  threw  down  his  cigar  and  commenced  winding 
his  Waterbury  watch. 

General  Sherman  could  spin  reminiscences  of  the 
war  by  the  hour.  He  could  tell  about  Bragg,  and  Jeff 
Davis,  and  General  Scott  in  Mexico. 

"General  Scott,"  he  said,  "was,  perhaps,  the  proudest 
man  in  the  Union  army.  He  never  appeared  except 
in  a  full-dress  uniform,  covered  with  gilt  spangles  and 
buttons.  Sheridan  and  Grant  were  just  the  opposite. 
Horace  Porter,  who  was  present,  says,  'Grant  received 
General  Lee's  sword  at  Appomattox  while  dressed  in 
a  common  soldier's  blouse.' 

"One  day,"  continued  the  general,  "General  Scott 
called  on  a  lady  away  out  in  the  suburbs  of  Washing- 
ton. Her  little  boy  had  never  seen  a  soldier,  especially 
such  a  resplendent  soldier  as  General  Scott.  When 
the  general  rang  the  bell,  the  boy  answered  it.  As  he 
pulled  open  the  door,  there  stood  the  general  in  gilded 
epaulets,  yellow  sash,  and  a  waving  plume  on  his  hat. 

'Tell  your  mother,  little  man,'  said  the  general,  'to 
please  come  to  the  door  a  moment ;  I  want  to  speak 
to  her.' 

"Charlie  went  upstairs  and  appeared  before  his 
mother,  with  the  most  awestruck  face. 

'Mamma,  some  one  at  the  door  wants  to  see  you,' 
he  said  tremblingly. 

"  'Who  is  it,  my  son?' 

"  'Oh,  I  don't  know,  mamma,  but  I  dess  it's  Dod.' " 

One  of  the  smartest  things  the  grizzled  old  general 
ever  said  was  the  remark  he  made  about  a  New  York 
dude. 

"What  would  you  do  if  I  were  you  and  you  were 
me,  General,"  tenderly  inquired  the  young  swell. 


GENERAL   SHERMAN'S  ANECDOTES.  39 

"Oh,  you  must  excuse  me,"  said  the  general 
modestly. 

"What  would  I  do,"  growled  the  grand  old  soldier, 
when  the  dude  had  gone,  "what  would  I  do  if  I  were 
it;  I'll  tell  you  what  I'd  do.  If  I  were  a  dude  I 
would  throw  away  that  vile  cigarette,  cut  up  my 
cane  for  firewood,  wear  my  watch-chain  underneath 
my  coat,  and  stay  at  home  nights  and  pray  for 
brains." 

"Speaking  of  war  stories,"  said  General  Sherman, 
"the  best  thing  happened  in  Howard's  Eleventh  Corps. 
Sickles  told  me  the  story.  It  seems  that  they  had  a 
drummer  boy  over  there  who  always  lived  well.  He 
was  in  Col.  Arrowsmith's  regiment,  the  Twenty-sixth 
N.  Y.  This  drummer,  while  the  regiment  was  on  the 
move,  had  a pencliant  for  foraging  on  his  own  account, 
and  the  chickens  had  to  roost  high  to  escape  his  far- 
reaching  hands.  Whenever  night  overtook  them,  this 
drummer  had  a  good  supper  provided  for  himself.  On 
one  occasion  he  had  raked  in  a  couple  of  turkeys  and 
had  put  them  into  his  drum  for  convenience  in  carry- 
ing. When  the  regiment  was  halted  for  the  night, 
Colonel  Arrowsmith  immediately  ordered  dress  parade, 
and  the  drummers  were  expected  to  beat  up.  The 
forager  made  his  drumsticks  go,  but  the  quick-eyed 
colonel  noticed  that  he  was  not  drumming. 

"  'Adjutant,'  said  the  colonel,  'that  man  isn't  drum- 
ming.    Why  ain't  he  drumming.' 

"The  adjutant  stepped  up  to  him,  saying,  'Why 
ain't  you  drumming?' 

" 'Because,' said  the  quick-witted  drummer, 'I  have 
got  two  turkeys  in  my  drum,  and  one  of  'em  is  for  the 
colonel.' 


40  ELI  PERK1XS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

'The   adjutant  went    back   and  the    colonel  asked, 
'What  is  it?' 

'Why,  he  says  he  has  got  two  turkeys  In  his  drum, 
and  one  of  'em  is  for  the  colonel.' 

"Up  to  this  point  the  conversation  had  been  carried 
on  sotto  voce,  but  when  the  adjutant  reported,  Colonel 
Arrowsmith  raised  his  voice  so  that  all  could  hear. 

'What!  sick,  is  he?     Why  didn't  he  say  so  before? 
Send  him  to  his  tent  at  once.' " 


REMINISCENCES  OF  \VM.  R.  TRAVERS. 


1  ravers's  Joke  on  the    Englishman — A.    T.   Stewart,  Joe  Mills,  Henry 
Clews,  Jay  Gould,  and  August  Belmont. 

GENERAL  SHERMAN'S  interest  in  his  old  West 
Point  class-mate,  Wm.  R.  Travers,  as  manifested 
by  his  letter  published  in  the  previous  chapter,  led  me 
to  collect  all  the  good  stories  by  and  about  that  charm- 
ing gentleman.  To  get  these  stories  I  have  had  long 
and  pleasant  conversations  with  Leonard  and  Lawrence 
Jerome,  Henry  Clews,  August  Belmont,  and  Mr.  De- 
pew.  Mr.  Travers  died  at  Bermuda,  March  19,  1887; 
and  Leonard  and  Lawrence  Jerome  have  since  followed 
their  boon  companion. 

The  great  wit  married  a  daughter  of  Reverdy  John- 
son, of  Baltimore,  our  ex-Minister  to  England,  after 
which  he  moved  to  New  York  and  formed  a  partnership 
with  Leonard  Jerome,  whose  daughter  married  Lord 
Randolph  Churchill.  Mr.  Travers  belonged  to  McAlis- 
ter's  400,  but  is  chiefly  celebrated  for  not  resembling 
that  organization  in  any  other  particular. 

Mr.  Travers  was  a  stammerer.  He  never  spoke 
three  consecutive  words  without  stammering.  This 
stammer  added  to  the  effectiveness  of  his  wit,  as 
Charles  Lamb's  stammer  added  to  his  wit.  His  fame 
got  to  be  so  great  as  a  stammerer  that  he  was  made 
the  hero  of  a  thousand  stammering  stories,  which  he 
never  heard  of  until  they  were  read  to  him  from  the 

4> 


42  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

newspapers.  But  his  shoulders  were  broad  enough  and 
his  heart  was  big  enough  to  father  them  all. 

Speaking  of  his  family  one  day  to  an  obtuse  English 
friend  of  Lord  Randolph  Churchill,  Mr.  T ravers  hesitat- 
ingly remarked : 

"Yes  I  c-came  from  a   large    f-fa-family,  a   v-v-very 

i-large  f-family!" 

"Aw!  how  large,  Mister Travers?"  asked  the  English- 
man. 

"There  were  t-t-ten  of  us  boys,  and  each  of  us  had 
a  s-s-sister." 

"Aw,  remarkable!"  said  the  obtuse  Englishman. 
"Then  there  were  twenty  of  you?" 

"N-no,"  said  Travers  scornfully,  "1-1-leven." 

Englishmen  were  always  the  natural  prey  of  Jerome 
and  Travers.  Jerome  pumped  them  full  of  the  most 
astonishing  stories  of  Travers's  career  as  a  warrior, 
hunter,  yachtsman,  statesman,  financier,  and  philoso- 
pher, and  then  let  Travers  get  out  of  it  as  best  he 
could. 

One  day  Jerome  was  showing  an  Englishman  a  queer 
toy.  It  was  an  automatic  English  dude,  with  big  cane 
and  eye-glasses. 

"Why,  it  don't  seem  to  work  well,"  said  the  English- 
man. 

"T-t-they  never  d-d-do,"  said  Travers. 

Mr.  Travers  had  Southern  blood  in  him,  and  he  was 
inclined  to  be  an  aristocrat.  He  was  always  saying 
spiteful  things  about  tradesmen  like  Astor,  Lorillard, 
and  A.  T.  Stewart.  Stewart  was  elected  on  one  occa- 
sion to  preside  at  a  meeting  of  citizens  during  the  war. 
Travers  was  present  in  the  audience.  When  Mr. 
Stewart  took  his  gold  pencil  case  from  his  pocket  and 


REMINISCENCES  OF  JVM.  R.    TRAVERS.  43 

rapped  with  its  head  on  the  table  for  the  meeting  to 
come  to  order,  Travers  called  out,  in  an  audible  tone: 

"C-CASH!" 

This  brought  down  the  house,  and  no  one  laughed 
more  heartily  than  Mr.  Stewart,  although  it  was  a  se- 
vere thrust  at  himself. 

Mr.  Travers  once  went  down  to  a  dog-fancier's  in 
Water  Street  to  buy  a  rat-terrier. 

"Is  she  a  g-g-good  ratter?"  asked  Travers,  as  he 
poked  a  little  shivering  pup  with  his  cane. 

"Yes,  sir;  splendid!  I'll  show  you  how  he'll  go 
for  a  rat,"  said  the  dog-fancier,  and  then  he  put  him  in 
a  box  with  a  big  rat. 

The  rat  made  one  dive  and  laid  out  the  frightened 
terrier  in  a  second,  but  Travers  turned  around,  and  ram- 
ming his  hand  into  his  pockets  called  out : 

"I  say,  Johnny,  w-w-what'll  ye  t-t-take  for  the  r-r-rat?" 

I  never  knew  but  one  joke  ever  perpetrated  on  Mr. 
Travers,  though  he  was  always  getting  jokes  on  to 
other  people. 

We  had  one  stammering  waiter  at  the  States  in 
Saratoga,  but  he  never  stammered  unless  excited. 
When  talking  to  a  stammering  man  he  became  doubly 
nervous  and  would  stammer  fearfully.  Joe  Mills,  who 
with  his  brother,  D.  O.  Mills,  used  to  open  oysters 
before  they  went  to  California,  became  millionaires,  and 
joined  the  aristocracy  and  the  400,  wanted  to  get  even 
with  Travers,  who  had  been  making  fun  of  his  French 
accent.  So  he  got  the  head-waiter  to  station  this 
stammering  waiter  at  Travers's  table,  and  then  we  all 
watched  the  result. 

The  great  wit  was  a  little  nervous  himself  that  day, 
having  patronized  the  wrong  horse  at  the  races,  and 


44  ELI  PERKIXS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

having  eaten  a  bilious  supper  at  Moon's  the  night  be- 
fore. 

At  first  Mr.  Travers  was  troubled  by  a  cold  plate, 
then  the  soft  shell  crabs  were  not  browned  properly, 
and  the  eggs  were  too  rare. 

"T-ta-take  'em  o-o-off,"  he  said,  frowning  at  the 
waiter,  and  pointing  to  the  eggs. 

"W-wha-what  f-f-for?"  asked  the  waiter. 

"N-n-never  mind;  take  'em  o-o-off!" 

"The  h-h-ham  suits  you,  d-d-don't  it?"  stammered  the 
waiter. 

"N-no;  o-off  with  it!"  said  Travers. 

"But  what  shall  I  b-b-bring  you?" 

"W-w-why,  anything — and  q-q-quick,  too!" 

"But  t-t-tell  me  one  thing  before  I  go,"  said  the 
waiter. 

"Well,  w-w-what  is  it?" 

"Why,  p-p-please  tell  if  you  c-c-came  here  to  eat  or 
to  have  a  f-f-fit  ?  " 

The  next  day,  to  get  even  with  Mr.  Mills,  Travers 
told  more  stories  about  his  French  accent.  He  said 
that  Joe,  who  had  been  in  Cuba  for  his  health,  finally 
returned  to  Key  West,  and  sent  this  telegram  to 
Leonard  Jerome : 

Leonard  Jerome,  Stock  Exchange  :  Tell  the  members  of 
the  Stock  Exchange  that  I  have  arrived  safely  on  terra  cotta. 

J.  M. 

"When  Joe  came  down  to  the  street  after  arriving  in 
New  York,"  said  Travers,  "I  asked  him  how  he  felt." 

"'How  do  I  feel?'  Comment  est-ce  que je  me  porte, 
you  mean,"  said  Mr.  Mills. 

"Yes,  as  you  French  scholars  say,  'How  do  you  carry 
yourself,'  Joe?" 


REMINISCENCES  OF  WM.  R.    TRAVERS.  45 

"Oh,   we.      Well,    I    feel   just    splendid— splendide. 

When  I  went  to  Cuba  I  was  a  very  sick  man — trh 
malade ;  but  now  (with  an  expressive  French  shrug) 
1  feel — I  feel  new  plus  ulster." 

I  asked  Mr.  Mills  afterward  if  he  really  said  new  plus 
ulster  and  he  denied  it.  "It's  one  of  Bill  Travers's 
jokes,  Eli,"  he  said.  "1  guess  I  know  how  to  talk  French 
— troisansa  Paree.  Hut  I'll  tell  you  honestly,  Eli,  what 
I  did  saw  When  Travers  said  I  looked  sick  and 
wouldn't  live  a  year,  I  just  snapped  my  fingers  in  the  old 
fellow's  face  and  walked  off  in  the— in  the  utmost  nom 
de  plume!" 

Mr.  Depew  says  he  was  at  the  Academy  of  Design 
one  evening  looking  at  the  famous  picture  "Luther  at 
the  Diet  of  Worms." 

A  little  while  afterward  he  met  Mr.  Mills  and 
asked  him  if  he  had  seen  "Luther  and  the  Diet  of 
Worms?" 

"I  saw  Luther,"  said  Joe,  "but  I  didn't  see  any 
worms.  That  must  have  been  an  awful  diet — diet  of 
worms;  c 'e'st  tres  mal /"  And  Joe  gave  a  real  French 
shrug  with  both  shoulders. 

Mr.  Henry  Clews  says  this  dialogue  actually  oc- 
curred in  Newport. 

Mr.  Travers  called  on  Mrs.  Belmont  at  her  cottage  one 
morning  and  said  : 

"M-M-Mrs.      B-B-Belmont,     have     y-y-y-you     ever 

b-b-b-b-been  in  S-S-S-ain " 

"Why,  Mr.  Travers!"  said  the  astonished  Mrs.  Bel- 
mont, "what  do  you  mean?" 

"H-h-h-ave  you  ever  b-b-b-been  in-in-in-in  S-S-Sain — 
in  S-S-Sain — have  y-y-y-y-you  ever  b-b-b-b-been  in  Sain 

— i-i-i-i-n  Sain " 

"Now,  no  joking  here,"  said  Mrs.  Belmont.     "I  am 


46  ELt  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

too  provoked  to  listen  to  you,"  and  she  went  across  the 
room. 

"Mr.  Travers,"  said  Mr.  Belmont,  shortly  afterward, 
"Mrs.  Belmont  says  you've  been  trying  to  joke 
her." 

"N-n-no!"  said  Travers,  "I  was  only  trying  to  ask 
your  wife  if   sh-sh-she  had  ever  been  in  S-S-S-S-aint 

LM 
OU1S. 

The  old  parrot  story,  which  I  gave  fifteen  years  ago 
in  "Saratoga  in  1901,"  is  good  enough  to  repeat. 

Mr.  Travers  went  into  a  bird-fancier's  in  Centre 
Street. 

"H-h-have  you   got   a-a-all  kinds  of  b-b-birds?"   he 

asked. 

"Yes,  sir,  all  kinds,"  said  the  bird-fancier  politely. 
"I  w-w-want  to  b-buy  a  p-p-parrot,"  hesitated  Mr.  T. 
"Well,  here  is  a  beauty.     See  its  golden  plumage!" 
"B-b-beautiful,"   stammered    Travers.      "C-c-can  he 

t-t-talk?" 

"Talk!"  exclaimed  the  bird-fancier.  "If  he  can't  talk 
better  than  you  can  I'll  give  him  to  you !" 

"One  day,"  says  Henry  Clews  in  his  "Thirty  Years  in 
Wall  Street,"  "after  Mr.  Travers  had  moved  to  New 
York,  an  old  friend  from  Baltimore  met  him  in  Wall 
Street.  As  it  had  been  a  long  time  since  they  saw 
each  other,  they  had  a  considerable  number  of  topics 
to  talk  over.  They  had  been  familiar  friends  in  the 
Monumental  City,  and  were  not,  therefore,  restrained 
by  the  usual  social  formalities. 

"  T  notice,  Travers,'  said  the  Baltimorean,  'that  you 
stutter  a  great  deal  more  than  when  you  were  in  Balti- 
more.' 

"  'W-h-y,  y-e-s,'  replied  Mr.  Travers,  darting  a  look 


REMINISCENCES  OF  WM.  R.    TR AVERS.  47 

of  surprise  at    his   friend;    'of    course  I  do;  this  is  a 
d-d-darned  sight  b-b-bigger  city.'  " 

Travers  saw  Jay  Gould  one  afternoon  standing  in 
front  of  the   Stock  Exchange  buried  in  deep  thought. 

"Clews,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  banker,  "that's  a 
queer  attitude  for  G-G-Gould." 

"How  so?"  asked  Clews. 

"Why  he's  got  his  hands  in  his  p-p-pockets — his  own 
p-p-pockcts." 

Mr.  Clews,  the  well-known  bald-headed  banker,  al- 
ways prides  himself  on  being  a  self-made  man.  Dur- 
ing a  recent  talk  with  Mr.  Travers,  he  had  occasion 
to  remark  that  he  was  the  architect  of  his  own  destiny 
— that  he  was  a  self-made  man. 

"W-w-what  d-did  you  s-ay,  Mr.  Clews?"  asked  Mr. 
Travers. 

"I  say  with  pride,  Mr.  Travers,  that  I  am  a  self-made 
man — that  I  made  myself " 

"Hold,  H-Henry,"  interrupted  Mr.  Travers,  as  he 
dropped  his  cigar,  "w-while  you  were  m-m-making 
yourself,  why  the  devil  d-did-didn't  you  p-put  some 
more  hair  on  the  top  of  y-your  h-head?" 

Colonel  Fisk  was  showing  Mr.  Travers  over  the 
"Plymouth  Rock,"  the  famous  Long  Branch  boat. 
After  showing  the  rest  of  the  vessel,  he  pointed  to  two 
large  portraits  of  himself  and  Mr.  Gould,  hanging,  a 
little  distance  apart,  at  the  head  of  the  stairway. 

"There,"  says  the  colonel,  "what  do  you  think  of 
them?" 

'They're  good,  Colonel — you  hanging  on  one  side 
and  Gould  on  the  other;  f-i-r-s-t  rate.  But,  Colonel," 
continued  the  wicked  Mr.  Travers,  buried  in  thought, 
"w-w-where's  our  Saviour?" 


48  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OE  WIT. 

Mr.  Travers,  who  is  a  vestryman  in  Grace  Church, 
says  he  knows  it  was  wicked,  but  he  couldn't  have 
helped  it  if  he'd  been  on  his  dying  bed. 

One  of  Travers's  best  ban  mots  was  inspired  by  the 
sight  of  the  Siamese  twins.  After  carefully  examining 
the  mysterious  ligature  that  had  bound  them  together 
from  birth,  he  looked  up  blankly  at  them  and  said, 
"  B-b-br-brothers,  I  presume?" 

Mr.  Clews  says  that  the  last  time  he  saw  Travers, 
the  genial  broker  called  at  his  office.  '  Looking  at  the 
tape,  Clews  remarked : 

"The  market  is  pretty  stiff  today,  Travers." 

"Y-y-yes,  but  it  is  the  st-st-stiffness  of  d-d-death." 

One  day,  many  years  ago,  Mr.  Travers  was  standing 
on  the  curb  of  New  Street,  opposite  the  Exchange, 
buying  some  stock  from  a  gentleman  whose  aspect  was 
unmistakably  of  the  Hebrew  stamp. 

"Wh-wh-what  is  your  name?"  asked  Travers. 

"Jacobs,"  responded  the  seller. 

"B-b-but  wh-what  is  your  Christian  name?"  reiterated 
Travers. 

The  Hebrew  was  nonplussed,  and  the  crowd  was  con- 
vulsed with  laughter. 

The  first  time  Mr.  Travers  attempted  to  find  Mon- 
tague Street,  in  Brooklyn,  he  lost  his  way,  although  he 
was  near  the  place.     Meeting  a  man,  he  said : 

"I  desire  to  r-reach  M-Montague  St-Street.  W-will 
you  b-be  kik-kind  enough  to  pup-point  the  way?" 

"You-you  are  go-going  the  wrong  w-way,"  was  the 
stammering  answer.  "That  is  M-Montague  St-Street 
there." 

"Are  y-you  mimick-mimicking  me;  making  fun  of 
me-me?"  asked  Mr.  Travers  sharply. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  WM.  R.    TRA  VERS.  49 

"Nun-no,  I  assure  you.  sir,"  the  other  replied.  "I-I 
am  ba-badly  af-flict-flicted  with  an  imp-impediment  in 
my  speech." 

"Why  do-don't  y-you  g-get  cured?"  asked  Travers 
solemnly.  "G-go  to  Doctor  Janvrin,  and  y-you'll  get 
c-cured.  D-don't  y-you  see  how  well  I  talk?  H-he 
cu-cured  m-m-me." 

The  best  stammering  story  I  know  of  happened  with 
myself — actually  happened.  Travers  wasn't  in  it.  I 
lectured  once  before  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  of  Binghamton. 

The  chairman  of  the  lecture  committee,  Major  Ste- 
vens, who  is  a  great  stammerer,  was  rather  late  in  call- 
ing on  me  at  the  hotel.     When  he  finally  came,  I  said  : 

"Major,  where Ve  you  been.     Where've  you  been?" 

"I've  b-b-been  down  to,  been  d-d-down  t-t-to-to " 

"Where  did  you  say?" 

"I've  been  d-d-down  to  A-A-Albany,  the  c-c-c-capi- 
tal." 

"What  have  you  been  down  to  Albany  for?" 

"I've  b-b-been  there  to  see  the  m-m-members  of  the 
leg-leg-legislature." 

"What  did  you  want  to  see  the  members  of  the  leg- 
islature for?" 

"Well,  I  wanted  to  get  'em  to  c-c-change  the  State 
con-consti  constitution." 

"Why,  what  did  you  want  to  change  the  New  York 
State  constitution  for?" 

"Because  the  St-St-State  constitution  g-g-guarantees 
to  ev-ev-every  m-m-man  f-f-free  s-s-speech,  and  I  w-w- 
want  it,  or  I  w-w-want  the  d-d-darned  thing  changed  !" 


CHAUNCEY  DEPEW'S   BEST   STORIES. 


Depew  on  the  Poughkeepsie  Farm — Discussing  Demand  and  Supply — 
The  Crowded  Connecticut  Funeral — Absent-minded  Daniel  Drew — 
The  Spotted  Dog  and  Other  Stories — Depew  in  Ireland — Fun  with 
the  Irish  Girls — All  of  Depew's  Stories. 

I  HAD  the  delightful  pleasure  of  riding  in  the  seat 
with  William  M.  Evarts  one  day  from  New  Haven 
to  the  senator's  farm  at  Windsor,  Vt.  We  had  been 
talking  about  typical  Americans  like  General  Butler, 
Daniel  Voorhies,  and  General  Alger  of  Michigan.  All 
at  once  the  thought  struck  me,  and  I  asked  the  great 
forensic  lawyer  and  descendant  of  Roger  Sherman  this 
question  : 

"Who  is  our  best  typical  American?" 

"Why,  Chauncey  Depew,  by  all  odds,"  said  Mr. 
Evarts.  "He  will  go  into  history  as  our  best  all-around 
representative  typical  American.  His  life  shows  what 
a  poor  boy  with  grit  and  the  blood  of  the  Puritans  in 
him  can  accomplish.  Here  is  a  case  of  a  man,  born, 
not  poor,  but  in  ordinary  circumstances,  on  a  sterile 
farm  back  of  Poughkeepsie,  who  graduates  at  Yale,  be- 
comes an  accomplished  scholar,  an  eloquent  orator,  a 
shrewd  president  of  our  greatest  railroad,  and  with,  per- 
haps, even  presidential  chances  in  the  future." 

Governor  Russell  J.  Alger  told  me  once  that  he  was 
born  in  poorer  circumstances  than  Depew.  At  the  age 
of  ten  Alger's  mother  was  left  with  twelve  children. 

5° 


1 7/.  1 1  \\\  ■/■: ) '  DEPE  W  'S  BEST  STORIES.  5  i 

They  lived  in  a  leaky  tenement  house  near  Canton,  0., 
and  little  Russell  often  worked  a  whole  week  to  earn 
money  enough  to  buy  a  bushel  of  meal  to  keep  his 
little  brother  and  sisters  from  starving.  Alger  went 
into  the  war  a  private  and  returned  a  general.  At  the 
close  of  the  war  he  took  his  ax  and  went  into  the 
woods  in  Michigan  and  actually  cut  cord  wood.  One 
man  in  Michigan  now  holds  a  receipt  from  Alger  for 
sixteen  dollars,  in  payment  for  cutting  thirty-two  cords 
of  stove  wood  !  So  Depew  and  Alger  are  both  typical 
Americans.  General  Alger  so  often  suffered  with  the 
cold  when  a  poor  boy  that  he  has  for  years  kept  a  stand- 
in;;  order  at  several  Detroit  coal  yards  to  give  a  bucket 
of  coal  to  any  poor  person  in  the  city  who  needs  it 
enough  to  carry  it  home. 

Depew  knew  what  it  was  to  work  when  a  boy;  and 
many  times  this  great  railroad  magnate,  who  now 
makes  presidents,  talks  politics  with  Gladstone,  and 
jokes  with  the  Prince  of  Wales,  has  driven  the  cows 
home  in  the  rain. 

Mr.  Depew's  features  are  marked  and  individual. 
In  his  latest  pictures  he  resembles  Gladstone,  and  when 
he  reaches  the  age  of  the  eloquent  sage  of  Hawarden 
his  resemblance  to  the  great  English  commoner  will  be 
startling.  The  great  railroad  magnate  always  beams 
with  good  humor,  and  is  never  too  busy  to  see  a  friend, 
even  if  he  has  to  say  "hail  and  farewell"  in  the  same 
breath. 

Mr.  Depew's  stories,  like  Lincoln's,  always  fit  the 
occasion,  and  prove  or  illustrate  some  point.  One  day 
at  a  railroad  meeting  several  railroad  presidents,  like 
Sam  Sloan  and  President  Roberts,  of  the  Pennsylvania, 
were  gravely  discussing  the  subject  of  passes  and  the 


52  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Interstate  Commerce  bill,  when  Depew  remarked  that 
a  man  gave  him  the  queerest  excuse  for  a  pass  that 
morning  that  he  ever  heard  of. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  President  Roberts. 

"Well,  he  came  in  and  simply  said  he  would  like  a 
pass  to  Albany." 

"On  what  grounds?"  asked  Roberts. 

"  'Simply  these,'  said  the  man:  'when  I  went  up  last 
Monday  I  was  the  only  man  on  the  train  who  didn't 
have  a  pass.  General  Husted  had  one,  and  Senator 
Irwin,  and  everybody  else,  and  when  I  hauled  out  my 
ticket  they  all  laughed  at  me.  Now,  Mr.  Depew,  I 
don't  want  to  be  laughed  at.' ' 

"And  you  passed  him  on  that?"  asked  Sloan. 

"Yes,  gave  him  an  annual." 

I  was  talking  one  day,  with  Mr.  Depew,  about  demand 
and  supply.  I  said  the  price  of  any  commodity  is 
always  controlled  by  the  demand  and  supply. 

"Not  always,  Eli,"  said  Mr.  Depew;  "demand  and 
supply  don't  always  govern  prices.  Business  tact 
sometimes  governs  them." 

"When,"  I  asked,  "did  an  instance  ever  occur  when 
the  price  did  not  depend  on  demand  and  supply?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Depew,  "the  other  day  I  stepped 
up  to  a  German  butcher,  and  out  of  curiosity  asked :    j 

"  'What's  the  price  of  sausages?' 

"  'Dwenty  cents  a  bound,'  he  said. 

"  'You  asked  twenty-five  this  morning,'  I  replied. 

"  'Ya,  dot  vas  ven  I  had  some.  Now  I  ain't  got 
none  I  sells  him  for  dwenty  cends.  Dot  makes  me  a 
repudation  for  selling  cheab  und  I  don'd  lose  nod- 
dings.' 

"You  see,"  said  Depew  laughing,  "I  didn't  want  any 


CI  I A  UNCE  V  DEPE  W'S  BEST  S'J  ORIE  S.  5  3 

sausage  and  the  man  didn't  have  any;  no  demand  or 
supply,  and  still  the  price  of  sausage  went  down." 

Mr.  Depew  is  perhaps  the  most  popular  dinner  ora- 
tor and  dinner  guest  in  New  York.  He  is  President  of 
the  Union  League  Club,  and  his  popularity  will  prob- 
ably keep  him  there  as  long  as  he  can  talk  and  eat. 
Besides  presiding  over  his  own  club  he  is  always  booked 
for  an  annual  speech  at  the  New  England,  St.  Patrick's, 
and  St.  Andrew's  dinners. 

One  day  I  was  talking  with  him  about  going  out  to 
dinner  so  much. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  do  go  out  a  good  deal." 

"But  how  can  you  stand  it?  I  should  think  it  would 
give  you  dyspepsia.  I  suppose  you  can  eat  every- 
thing?" 

"No,  there  are  two  things  which  I  always  positively 
refuse  to  eat  for  dinner,"  said  Mr.    Depew  gravely. 

"And  what  are  they?" 

"Why,  breakfast  and  supper." 

"But  the  great  crowds  you  have  to  face  in  heated 
rooms — they  must  wear  on  you,"  I  said. 

"But  the  crowded  dining-room,"  said  Depew,  "is 
more  healthful  than  a  funeral.  Now,  I  have  a  friend  in 
Poughkeepsie  who  goes  out  more  than  I  do,  but  he 
goes  to  funerals.  He  never  misses  one.  He  enjoys  a 
good  funeral  better  than  the  rest  of  us  enjoy  a  dinner. 

"I  remember  one  day  how  I  attended  a  funeral  with 
my  Poughkeepsie  friend  over  in  Dutchess  County. 
The  house  was  packed.  The  people  came  for  miles 
around — and  everybody  came  to  mourn,  too.  Many 
eyes  were  wet,  and  some  good  old  farmers,  who  had 
never  seen  the  deceased,  except  at  a  distance,  groaned 
and  shed  real  tears.     After  we  had  crowded  our  way 


54  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

in  among   the   mourners,  I    turned  to   my    friend   and 
said : 

"  'George,   I  don't  see  the  coffin — where  is  it?' 

"But  George  couldn't  answer. 

"After  a  while  I  made  a  remark  to  my  friend  about 
a  lovely  eight-day  clock  standing  in  the  hall. 

"'The  clock!'  said  George  mournfully,  'why,  that 
isn't  a  clock,  that's  the  coffin.  They've  stood  him  up 
in  the  hall  to  make  room  for   the  mourners!' ' 

Speaking  of  absent-minded  men  one  day,  Mr. 
Depew  said : 

"Daniel  Drew  was  a  very  absent-minded  man.  Once 
he  started  for  the  Erie  train  and  thought  he  had  left 
his  watch  at  home.  First  he  thought  he  would  go 
back  after  it.  In  an  absent-minded  way  he  took  out 
his  watch,  looked  at  it,  and  exclaimed : 

"'Whew!  five  o'clock,  and  the  train  goes  out  5:10. 
I  won't  have  time.' 

"Then  he  put  his  watch  back  in  his  pocket  and 
telegraphed  his  wife  to  send  it  to  Albany  by  express. 

"But  Horace  Greeley,"  said  Depew,  "was  more 
absent-minded  than  Drew." 

"Do  you  remember  the  instance?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  Whitelaw  Reid  said  when  Greeley  left  the 
Tribune  office  one  day  he  put  a  card  on  his  office 
door,  'Will  return  at  three  o'clock.' 

"Happening  to  return  at  1.30,  and  seeing  the  sign, 
he  sat  down  in  the  hall  and  waited  for  himself  till 
three  o'clock.     Greeley  was  absent-minded  !" 

Mr.  Depew  gives  the  credit  for  his  success  in  life  to 
his  mother.  When  I  asked  him  to  please  describe  her 
to  me,  he  said  : 

"My  mother  was  a  woman  of  broad  culture  and  a 


CHA  UNCE  Y  DEPE IV  S  BEST  S  TO  AVE  S.  5  5 

great  reader.  She  was  intensely  religious  and  believed 
in  the  efficacy  of  church  attendance  on  the  Sabbath. 
She  did  not  care  for  money  and  never  gave  any  advice 
in  regard  to  it.  Rich  people  did  not  impress  her,  but 
she  was  never  tired  of  enthusiastically  speaking  of  the 
honors  of  life  and  of  men  who  had  become  famous 
as  statesmen,  orators,  or  authors.  She  pleaded  so 
earnestly  and  urgently  the  duty  of  going  to  church 
that  I  am  as  uncomfortable  now  for  the  remainder  of 
the  week  if  absent  from  service  at  least  once  on  Sunday 
as  I  was  when  a  boy.  She  valued  education  beyond 
all  acquisition,  and  her  constant  injunction  was  to  get 
knowledge.  Her  often  repeated  remark  was:  'It  re- 
quires little  money  to  live  and  anybody  who  tries  can 
earn  it,  but  very  few  can  win  distinction.  Strive  for 
that."* 

The  father  of  the  great  railroad  president  was  a  very 
frugal  farmer,  and  also  a  veiy  pious  man.  He  never 
liked  to  have  any  time  wasted  in  the  prayer-meeting. 
One  night,  when  the  experiences  had  all  been  told, 
and  the  exhortations  flagged,  and  the  prayers  grew 
feeble,  Brother  Depew  arose  and  solemnly  remarked : 

"I  don't  like  to  see  this  valuable  time  wasted.  Brother 
Joslyn,  can't  you  tell  your  experience?" 

Brother  Joslyn  said  he'd  told  his  experience  twice 
already. 

"Then,  Brother  Finney,  can't  you  make  a  prayer  or 
tell  your  experience?" 

"I've  told  it  several  times  to-night,  brother,  and 
prayed  twice." 

"Well,  my  brethren,"  said  Mr.  Depew,  "as  the 
regular  exercises  to-night  seem  to  halt  a  little,  and  as 
no  one  seems  to  want  to  pray  or  tell  his  experience.  I 


56  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

will  improve  the  time  by  making  a  few  observations 
on  the  tariff." 

Mr.  Depew  took  a  trip  to  Blarney  Castle  and  Kil- 
larney  a  year  or  two  ago,  and  his  reminiscences  of 
that  trip  are  very  amusing.  When  I  asked  him  if  he 
saw  any  of  those  beautiful  golden-haired  Irish  girls 
that  we  read  about,  he  said : 

"Yes,  about  forty  joined  our  party  at  Killarney — 
and  such  rosy-cheeked,  red-lipped  Irish  girls  they 
were!  Bright  and  merry  as  girls  could  be.  They 
made  a  raid  upon  our  pockets  which  cleaned  out  the 
last  shilling,  but  it  was  fairly  won  and  lost. 

"  'Sure,  sor,'  said  a  pretty  girl,  'an'  are  the  winters 
very  cold  in  Ameriky?' 

"  'Yes,'  I  said. 

"'Then,'  said  this  bright-eyed  siren,  T  have  been 
expecting  you,  sor,  and  have  knitted  these  woolen 
stockings  to  make  you  comfortable  at  home  and  keep 
your  heart  warm  to  ould  Ireland.' 

"  'And  is  there  nothing  you  will  buy?'  said  another. 

"  'Nothing,'  said  I. 

"  'Well,  then,'  she  cried,  'will  yer  honor  give  me  a 
shilling  for  a  sixpence?' 

"  T  am  going  to  be  married,  sor,'  lisped  a  mountain 
beauty,  'and  me  marriage  portion  is  pretty  near  made 
up!  and  Pat's  getting  very  weary  waiting  so  long.' 

"'My  money  is  all  gone,'  said  I,  when,  quick  as  a 
flash,  I  heard  a  friend  say  to  her: 

"  'Mary,  thry  him  on  getting  to  Ameriky.' ' 

"Are  the  Irish  really  a  witty  people?"  I  asked. 

"They  are  very  bright,"  said  Mr.  Depew.  "The  Irish 
are  the  quickest  and  most  cheerful  of  all  the  peas- 
antry of  Europe.     While  the  English  and  Continental 


CHA  UNCE  V  DEPE IV S  BEST  S TORIES.  5  7 

people  who  are  in  like  condition  are  little  above  the 
brutes,  the  Irish  are  as  full  of  life,  fire,  and  humor  as  if 
their  state  was  one  of  frolic  and  ease.  Touch  one  of 
them  anywhere  and  at  any  time,  and  he  bubbles  with 
fun  and  smart  repartee.  When  I  was  in  Dublin,  a 
political  orator  was  describing  his  opponent  as  an 
extinct  volcano,  when  a  voice  in  the  audience  cried  : 

"  'Oh,  the  poor  crater.' 

"I  said  to  a  jaunting-car  driver  at  Quccnstown,  to 
whom  I  owed  a  shilling: 

'  'Can  you  change  a  half-crown  (two  and  sixpence)?' 

''Change    a    half-crown,    is    it?'    he   cried,    in    mock 
amazement,  'do  you  think  I  have  robbed  a  bank?' 

"At  Killarney,"  continued  Mr.  Depcw,  "I  met  a 
delicious  bit  of  wit  and  blunder.  I  asked  the  hotel 
clerk  to  stamp  a  letter  for  me.  He  put  on  the  postage 
stamp,  which  bears  Victoria's  image,  and  then  starting 
back  as  if  horrified,  said  : 

'Bedad,  but  I  have  stood  her  majesty  on  her 
head." 

'Well,'  I  said,  'that  is  not  astonishing  for  an  Irish- 
man ;  but  that  is  a  double  letter,  and  won't  go  without 
another  stamp.' 

"'Another  stamp,  is  it?'  and  slapping  the  second 
directly  over  the  first,  'Begora,'  said  he,  'it  will  go 
now.' 

"I  love  the  witty  Irish  so  well,"  continued  Mr. 
Depew,  "that  you  must  let  me  illustrate  some  of  their 
characteristics.  Some  friends  of  mine,  and  among 
them  a  disciple  of  Bcrgh,  were  walking  through  Cork, 
and  saw  a  boy  of  sixteen  beating  a  donkey.  Said  the 
member  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty 
to  Animals; 


5 8  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"  'Boy,  stop  beating  your  brother!'  And  as  quick  as 
a  flash  the  boy  answered : 

"  'I  won't,  father!' 

"I  said  to  an  Irish  liveryman:  'Give  me  a  good 
horse  for  a  long  ride.' 

'  'All  right,  your  honor.     The  best  in  the  world.' 

"The  horse  broke  down  in  half  an  hour,  and  I  said: 
'You  rascal,  why  did  you  cheat  me  in  this  way?' 

'  'Sure,  your  honor,  that  horse  is  all  right,  but  he  is 
a  very  intelligent  baste,  and,  knowing  you  are  a 
stranger,  he  wants  you  to  have  time  to  see  the 
scenery.' 

"As  I  was  bidding  farewell  to  Ireland,  I  said  to  my 
faithful  attendant :     'Good-by,  Pat.' 

' 'Good-by,  yer  honor,' he  said  pathetically.  'May 
God  bless  you,  and  may  every  hair  in  your  head  be  a 
candle  to  light  your  soul  to  glory.' 

"  'Well,  Pat,'  I  said,  showing  him  my  bald  pate, 
'when  that  time  comes  there  won't  be  much  of  a  torch- 
light procession.'  " 

While  in  Edinburgh  Mr.  Depew  visited  Stirling 
Castle,  overlooking  the  battlefield  of  Bannockburn, 
where  Bruce  saved  Scotland.  In  this  castle  King 
James  was  born  and  baptized  into  the  Romish  Church. 
When  I  asked  Mr.  Depew  about  Scotch  wit  he  said : 

"The  Scotch  are  witty  when  it  pays  to  be  witty.  It 
was  a  Scotchman  who  advised  his  son  to  be  virtuous, 
on  the  ground  that  virtue  paid  better  than  vice,  and 
that  he  had  tried  both.  At  Stirling  Castle  my  Scotch 
guide  said : 

"  'Sir,  the  tower  is  closed  which  contains  the  crown 
jewels,  and  you  can't  get  in.' 

"  'The  doors  are  locked,  you  say?' 


CIIA  I  'XCE  Y  DEPE  W '  S  BES  /'  5  Ti  )EIES.  5  9 

"  'Locked  as  tight  as  the  Bank  of  England.' 

"'Will  a  sovereign  open  them?' 
'The    half    of     it    will,    sir!'   he     fairly     yelled,     in 
astonishment  at  the  reckless  prodigality  of  the  offer." 

Mr.  Depew's  idea  of  Scotch  wit  is  a  good  deal  like 
my  own.  The  Scotch  are  so  practical  that  the  paradox 
outrages  them. 

The  venerable  Dr.  McCosh,  of  Princeton,  was  a 
Scotch  logician,  and  once  wrote  a  magazine  article  on 
humor,  but  still  this  great  philosopher  could  never  see 
through  a  joke.  I  said  this  to  President  Andrew  D. 
White  of  Cornell  University  at  the  States  in  Saratoga 
once. 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  the  president. 

"I  know  it,"  I  said.  "Now,  Dr.  McCosh  is  up  at  the 
Clarendon  ;  let  us  go  up  there,  and  I  will  tell  him  a  joke 
with  a  paradox  in  it,  and  if  he  sees  the  point  I  will  ad- 
mit I  am  in  error." 

Well,  we  went  up  and  called  on  the  venerable  Prince- 
ton president ;  and  after  we  had  talked  about  foreor- 
dination  and  the  stoical  philosophy  of  Seneca  in  the 
sweet  reign  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  I  told  him  the  old  par- 
adoxical story  that  I  have  often  told  about  Bill  Nye: 
How,  meeting  Bill  one  day,  I  remarked  upon  his  beauti- 
ful white  teeth. 

"Now,  Mr.  Nye,"  I  said,  "how  do  you  keep  your 
teeth  so  white?" 

"Oh,  that's  easy,"  he  said;  "all  teeth  will  remain 
white  if  they  are  properly  taken  care  of.  Of  course 
I  never  drink  hot  drinks,  always  brush  my  teeth  morn- 
ing and  evening,  avoid  all  acids  whatever,  and,  al- 
though I  am  forty  years  old,  my  teeth  are  as  good  as 
ever." 


60  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

"And  that  is  all  you  do  to  preserve  your  teeth,  is  it? 
You  do  not  select  the  silicates  instead  of  oleaginous 
food?" 

"Oh,  no  ;  I  do  nothing  at  all- — except — well — except 
I  generally  put  them  in  soft  water  nights." 

Dr.  White  laughed  at  the  paradox,  as  does  the 
reader,  but  logically  minded  Dr.  McCosh  put  his  hand 
to  his  brow  as  if  in  deep  thought  and  remarked : 

"Yes,  yes,  but  as  a  scientist  I  cannot  see  what  chemi- 
cal property  there  is  in  warm  water  which  can  act  upon 
the  enamel  of  the  teeth  so  as  to  make  them  white !" 

Dr.  White  looked  at  me  first  in  bewilderment  and 
then  he  burst  into  a  second  laugh  louder  than  the  first. 

Returning  from  Liverpool  on  the  City  of  Rome  I  fell 
in  with  a  Scotch  journalist  who  said  he  could  never  see 
any  fun  in  Artemus  Ward.  "He  is  so  illogical,  and 
says  such  impossible  things !"  he  said. 

"What  is  one  illogical  thing  that  Mr.  Ward  has  said?" 
I  asked. 

"Why,"  said  the  Scotchman,  "he  said,  'he  was  bound 
to  live  within  his  means  if  he  had  to  borrow  money  to 
do  it.'  Why,  he  wouldn't  be  living  within  his  means  if 
he  borrowed  money.     Impossible  !     How  absurd  !" 

Now  this  Scotchman's  language  was  so  precise  and 
matter-of-fact,  that  he  amused  me  as  much  as  Artemus. 
When  I  asked  my  Scotch  journalist  what  newspaper 
he  wrote  for,  he  said : 

"I  write  serious  editorials  for  the  Glasgow  Herald." 

"Did  you  ever  try  to  write  humorous  articles?"  I 
asked. 

"Very  seldom,"  he  said.  "I  am  very  good  at  com- 
prehensive serious  writing,  but  my  wit,  I  fear,  is  con- 
strained.    I  joke  with  difficulty." 


CHA  UNCE  Y  DEPE  W'S  BEST  STORIES.  6  I 

T  am  perpetually  amused  at  the  stupidity  of  John 
Bull.  He  always  misconstrues  every  idea.  Our 
American  exaggerated  stories  that  come  in  from 
Colorado  and  Wyoming,  always  astound  the  English- 
man. He  believes  these  stories  literally.  I  was  very 
much  amused  at  a  party  of  English  tourists  whom  1 
met  at  Queenstown  after  they  had  been  doing  the 
lakes  of  Killarney.  When  I  asked  a  John  Bull  who  it 
was  who  made  up  his  Killarney  party,  he  said : 

"We  had  a  rum  fellow  from  Glasgow,  a  blarsted  Yan- 
kee from  Chicago,  a  bloody  Irishman  from  Cork,  a 
Canuck  chap  from  Toronto,  and  two  English  gentle- 
men." 

One  day  a  steady  going  John  Bull  said  to  meat  Ken- 
sington : 

"You  have  queer  people  in  St.  Louis,  'av'n't  you?" 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Because,"  he  said,  "don't  chew  know,  I  read  a 
strange  story  in  a  newspaper  about  a  St.  Louis  lady. 
Some  one  asked  'er  on  the  steamer  if  she  'ad  been 
presented  at  Couit  while  in  London,  and  she  said: 

"  'Well,  no.     I   didn't  go  to  Court,  myself,  but   my 
'usband  did  ;  but  he  got  let  off  with  merely  a  nominal 
ne. 

Then  as  his  single  eye-glass  fell  off,  he  remarked  "Ex- 
traordinary, wasn't  it?"  Then  after  a  moment's  deep 
thought  he  screwed  on  his  eye-glass  and  continued  sol- 
emnly, "I  dare  say  this  St.  Louis  story  is  true,  for  I 
really  read  it  in  a  Chicago  newspaper!" 

The  French  have  a  different  humor  from  Sandy  or 
John  Bull.  The  Frenchman  enjoys  the  impossible.  He 
laughs  at  the  paradox.  One  day  in  Paris  I  went  to  see 
the  unveiling  of  the  Bartholdi  Statue  of  Liberty.     The 


62  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

French  President  presented  the  statue  to  America  and 
Minister  Morton  received  it.  After  the  ceremony  Min- 
ister Morton  introduced  me  to  M.  Francois  Bricaire, 
the  humorist  of  Figaro.  I  tried  hard  to  get  to  the 
bottom  of  French  humor.  We  exchanged  our  best 
stories.  I  find  they  have  a  different  idea  of  humor 
from  what  we  Americans  have.  All  French  stories  are 
true.  They  never  exaggerate,  and  the  paradox  is  not 
funny  to  the  Frenchman.     It  exasperates  him. 

I  asked  M.  Bricaire  to  tell  me  the  funniest  thing  he 
could  think  of. 

"You  Americans,"  he  said,  "are  always  funny  to  us. 
You  do  such  unnatural  things.  Why,  an  American 
recently  came  here  with  a  steam  fire-engine.  He  was 
wild  to  have  Paris  adopt  it.  We  said.  'Why,  we  never 
have  any  fires.     Our  buildings  are  fireproof.' 

"  'No  fires?'  he  said.     'No  fires  in  Paris?' 

"  'No,  never.' 

'  'Pshaw,'  he  said,  'you  are  behind  the  times.  It's 
because  you  have  no  steam  fire-engines.  Get  the  en- 
gines and  the  fires  will  come.'  He  made  me  laugh,  ha, 
ha!" 

"He  was  like  a  Frenchman,"  continued  the  humor- 
ist, "who  claimed  to  be  a  great  inventor.  WThen  the 
Academy  asked  him  what  he  had  invented,  he  said : 

"  'I  have  discovered  how  to  take  the  salt  out  of  cod- 
fish.'    Ha,  ha — that  is  our  best  joke." 

But  to  return  to  Mr.  Depew: 

"The  ride  of  six  miles  from  Edinburgh  to  Roslyn," 
continued  Mr.  Depew,  "gave  me  an  unusual  opportun- 
ity to  mark  the  difference  in  intelligence  between  the 
nationalities  of  the  coachman  class.  The  Irish  driver 
is  full  of  wit,  humor,  and  fun,  but  his  information  is  lim- 


CffA  UNCE  Y  DEPE IV  S  BEST  STORIES.  63 

ited,  and  he  is  a  poor  guide.  The  English  driver  is  the 
stupidest  of  all  mortals.  He  has  neither  imagination 
nor  knowledge.  I  said  to  one  as  we  drove  through  the 
ancient  gates  of  an  old  walled  town  : 

"  'What  were  those  arches  built  for?' 

"  '  I  don't  know,  sir.' 

"  'How  long  have  you  lived  here?' 

'"All  my  life,  sir.' 

"In  the  square  at  Salisbury  stood  a  statue  of  Sidney 
Herbert,  for  many  years  a  distinguished  member  of 
parliament.  I  asked  the  coachman:  'Whose  statue 
is  that?' 

"  'Mr.  Herbert,  sir." 
'Well,' said  I,  'what  did  he  do  to  deserve  a  statue?' 

"  'I  don't  know,  sir,  but  I  think  he  fit  somewhere.' 
'Well,  is  that   the  reason  he   is  dressed  in  a  frock 
coat,  and  carries  an  umbrella  instead  of  a  sword?' 

"  'Yes,  sir,  I  think  so.' 

"I  said  to  my  driver  at  Torquay: 

"  'Do  many  Americans  come  here?' 
'Oh,  yes,  sir.  H 'Americans  are  very  fond  of  Tor- 
quay. Only  yesterday  morning,  sir,  two  h'Americans, 
young  ladies,  'ad  me  out  before  breakfast,  and  they 
made  me  drive  them  to  an  h'American  dentist  to  have 
a  tooth  plugged,  and  the  next  day  I  had  to  go  there 
very  early  again,  because  there  was  some  trouble  with 
that  plug.  Oh,  the  h'Americans  are  very  fond  of  Tor- 
quay, sir.'  " 

'What  was  the  oldest  ruin  you  visited  in  England?' 
I  asked. 

"Well,  old  Stonehenge,  ten  miles  from  Old  Sarum. 
The  age  of  Stonehenge  is  not  known.  It  is  a  mystery 
of  the  prehistoric  past.     There  are  four  rows  in  circles 


64  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

of  rough,  uncut  stone  columns,  each  circle  within  the 
other.  Two  uprights,  standing  about  twenty-five  feet 
high,  are  bound  by  a  third,  resting  across  them  on  the 
top,  and  so  on  all  the  way  round.  This  structure  is  in 
the  midst  of  a  chalk  plain,  and  there  are  no  stones  like 
it  nearer  than  Ireland.  The  stones  weigh  about  eleven 
tons  each.  Where  did  they  come  from?  How  did  a 
primitive  people  get  them  there?  How  did  they  raise 
these  vast  blocks  and  place  them  upon  the  top  of  the 
upright  supports?  Have  other  races  lived,  flourished, 
and  perished,  with  high  civilization,  before  our  own?  I 
made  all  these  inquiries,  and  many  more,  of  the  old 
guide  at  the  temple,  and  finally  he  said : 

'HT  can  h'always  tell  h'Americans  by  the  h'odd 
questions  they  ask.     Now  that  big  stone  yonder  fell 
h'over  and  broke  in  the  year  1797,  and  when  I  told  this 
to  one  of  your  countrymen  he  said  : 
"Well,  did  you  see  it  fall?" 

"Good  heavens,"  said  I,  "  that  was  nearly  a  hundred 
years  ago." 

"  'Then  I  was  only  last  week  pointing  out  to  a  pretty 
young  h'American  lady,  how  only  one  day  in  the  year, 
and  that  the  longest  day,  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun 
come  directly  over  that  tallest  stone,  and  strike  on  that 
stone  lying  down  over  there  with  the  letter  "h'A"  on  it, 
which  means  the  altar. 

''"Oh,"    she   said,    "I    suppose   you    have    seen  it 
more  than  a  thousand  times." 

'"Lord  bless  you,  miss,"  said  I,  "it  only  happens 
once  a  year."  ' 

"Henry  Irving,  the  actor,  told  me  that  Toole,  the 
comedian,  said  to  him  one  day:  'And  so  you  have 
done  more  in  twenty  years  to  revive  and  properly  pre- 


CHAUNCEY  DEPEWS  BEST  STORIES.  65 

sent  the  plays  of  Shakespeare  than  any  man  living, and 
were  never  at  Stratford  ?  Let's  go  at  once.'  A  few 
hours  found  them  roaming  over  all  the  sacred  and 
classic  scenes  by  the  Avon.  As  they  were  returning  to 
the  hotel  in  the  early  evening,  they  met  an  agricultural 
laborer  coming  home  with  his  shirt  outside  his  panta- 
loons, with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  stolid  and  content. 
Toole  asked  him  : 

"  'Does  Mr.  Shakespeare  live  here?' 

"  'No,  sor.     I  think  he  be  dead.' 

"  'Well,  do  many  people  come  to  see  his  grave?' 

"  'Oh,  yes,  sor.' 

"  'What  did  he  do  to  make  these  great  crowds  visit 
his  house  and  the  church  where  he  is  buried?' 

'I've  lived  here  all  my  life,'  said  Hodge,  scratching 
his  head  in  great  perplexity,  'but  I  don't  know  exactly, 
but  I  think  he  writ  somethin'.' 

'"What  did  he  write?' 

''I  think,'  said   Hodge  solemnly,  'I  think  it  was  the 
Bible.'  " 

I  told  Mr.  Depew's  dog  story  years  ago,  but  the 
great  story-teller  has  changed  it  lately,  so  the  last  time 
I  saw  him  I  asked  him  to  give  me  the  new  version. 

"But  it  is  a  chestnut,  Eli,"  he  said,  and  then  he  con- 
tinued thoughtfully.  "Everything  good  is  a  chestnut. 
A  good  dinner  is  a  chestnut ;  and  so  is  your  old  port 
wine,  and  your  wife's  love;  but  you  never  get  tired  of 
them.  The  dog  story  really  happened,  you  know.  You 
see,  when  I  was  about  fourteen  years  old  my  father  lived 
on  the  old  farm  up  at  Poughkeepsie.  One  day  after  I 
had  finished  a  five-acre  field  of  corn  my  father  let  me  go 
to  town  to  see  a  circus.  While  in  town  I  saw  for  the 
first  time  a  spotted  coach  dog.     It  took  my  fancy  and 


66  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

I  bought  it  and  took  it  home.     When  father  saw  it,  his 
good  old  Puritan  face  fell. 

'Why,  Chauncey,'  he  said  sadly,  'we  don't  want 
any  spotted  dog  on  the  farm — he'll  drive  the  cattle 
crazy.' 

''No,  he  won't,  father,'  said  I  proudly;  'he's  a 
blooded  dog.' 

"The  next  day,"  said  Mr.  Depew,  "it  was  raining, 
and  I  took  the  dog  out  into  the  woods  to  try  him  on  a 
coon,  but  the  rain  was  too  much  for  him.  It  washed 
the  spots  off.  That  night  I  took  the  dog  back  to  the 
dog  dealer  with  a  long  face.  Said  I :  'Look  at  the  dog 
sir;  the  spots  have  all  washed  off.' 

'  'Great  guns,  boy !'  exclaimed  the  dog  dealer,  'there 
was  an  umbrella  went  with  that  dog.  Didn't  you  get 
the  umbrella?'  " 

At  the  last  Presidential  election  the  Democrats 
claimed  every  State.  They  claimed  that  Harrison 
was  surely  defeated,  and  that  Cleveland  had  carried 
every  State. 

"The  Democrats  claiming  everything  so,"  said  De- 
pew, "reminds  me  of  the  Boston  drummer  who  was  din- 
ing at  the  Albany  station.  In  announcing  dessert  the 
waiters  sang  out  mince  pie,  apple  pie,  peach  pie,  and 
custard  ! 

"  'Give  me  a  piece  of  mince,  apple,  and  peach,'  said  the 
drummer. 

T  say,'  said  the  waitress,  as  she  hesitated  a  moment, 
'what's  the  matter  of  the  custard?'  " 

Mr.  Depew  worships  a  sweet,  pure  American  joke, 
and  he  never  gets  mad  if  he  is  made  the  victim  of  it. 
When  the  jovial  railroad  president  arrived  from  Eu- 
rope the  last  time,  the  wits  of  the  Union  League  Club 


CHA  I rNl "A' ) '  DEPE IV 'S  BEST  S TORIES.  6 7 

had  a  good  joke  ready  for  him.     Elliott  F.  Shepard, 

Vandcrbilt's  son-in-law,  and  Wm.  M.  Evarts  had  told 
it,  and  Mr.  Dana  had  it  read}-  for  the  Sun.  The  next 
day  after  Mr.  Depew  arrived  from  Europe,  and  before 
he  heard  the  story,  I  was  in  Cornelius  Vanderbilt's  room 
in  the  Grand  Central  Depot.  The  story  was  about  De- 
pew's  experience  on  the  steamer.  1  didn't  know  that 
Depew  sat  in  the  next  room  and  overheard  every  word 
of  the  story  through  the  half-open  door. 

"A  new  story  on  Depew?"  said  Vanderbilt. 

"Yes,  and  Depew  himself  hasn't  heard  it  yet." 

"What  is  it— tell  it?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "Evarts  and  the  Union  League  fellows 
say  that  every  evening  on  Depew's  steamer,  a  dozen  or 
so  genial  passengers  clustered  in  the  smoking  saloon  to 
tell  stories  and  yarns  about  things  in  general.  Every 
soul  save  one  in  the  party  kept  his  end  up.  The  one 
exceptional  member  of  the  party  did  not  laugh  or  in- 
dicate by  even  a  twinkle  of  the  eye  any  interest  in  the 
funniest  jokes,  and  was  as  silent  as  a  door-knob  at  the 
best  stories. 

"This  conduct  began  to  nettle  Mr.  Depew  and  the 
other  spirits,  and  when  the  final  seance  came  around 
they  had  lost  all  patience  with  the  reticent  and  unre- 
sponsive stranger.  Mr.  Depew  was  finally  selected 
to  bring  him  to  terms.  They  were  all  comfortably 
seated  and  in  came  the  stranger. 

"See  here,  my  dear  sir,'  said  Mr.  Depew,  'won't  you 
tell  a  story?' 

"  T  never  told  one  in  my  life.' 
Sing  a  song? 
Can  t  sing. 
'Know  any  jokes?'  persisted  Mr.  Depew. 


68  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

"'No.' 

"Mr.  Depew  and  all  were  prepared  to  give  it  up  when 
the  stranger  stammered  and  hesitated  and  finally  made 
it  known  that  he  knew  just  one  conundrum,  but  had 
forgotten  the  answer. 

'"Give  it  to  us,'  said  Mr.  Depew  and  the  others  in 
chorus.     'Yes,  give  it  to  us;  we'll  find  the  answer.' 

"  'What  is  the  difference  between  a  turkey  and  me?' 
solemnly  asked  the  stranger. 

"  'Give  it  up,'  said  Chairman  Depew. 

"  'The  difference  between  a  turkey  and  me,'  mildly 
said  the  stranger,  'is  that  they  usually  stuff  the  bird 
with  chestnuts  after  death.     I  am  alive.'  " 

Vanderbilt  smiled  audibly,  but  a  merry  ha!  ha! 
echoed  from  the  next  room. 

It  was  the  happy  laugh  of  Depew  himself,  and  it 
grew  louder  till  I  left  the  building.  When  I  meet  Mr. 
Depew  now  I  give  him  the  whole  sidewalk,  and  when  I 
ride  on  his  railroad  I  walk. 


NEW    PHILOSOPHY    OF    WIT  AND    HUMOR. 


Wit  and  Humor  Distinctly  Separated — Wit,  Imagination  ;  Humor,  the 
Truth — Wits  and  Humorists  Classified — Mark  Twain,  Dickens,  Will 
Carleton,  Nasby,  Josh  Billings,  Danbury  News  Man,  Hurdette — 
Pathos. 

IT  was  years  after  I  had  left  college ;  yes,  years  after 
I  had  written  humorous  books  and  floated  wit  and 
humor  as  far  as  the  English  language  goes,  before  I 
began  to  investigate  philosophically  the  difference  be- 
tween them.  It  was  also  years  before  I  could  separate 
satire  and  ridicule.  In  making  this  investigation  I  had 
no  books  to  go  to.  All  the  mental  philosophers  like- 
Lord  Karnes,  Whateley,  Blair,  and  Wayland  had 
left  us  only  one  erroneous  definition,  that  "Wit  is  a 
short-lived  surprise."  Edison  told  me  that  he  found 
all  the  data  on  electricity  that  had  come  down  from 
Newton  and  Franklin  and  Morse  erroneous.  He 
threw  their  data  away  and  commenced  again.  I  did 
the  same  with  wit  and  humor.  I  said,  suppose  a 
physician  should  give  as  silly  a  reason  for  the  cause 
of  death  as  the  rhetoricians  do  of  the  cause  of  laughter. 
Suppose  when  I  asked  Dr.  Hammond  or  Dr.  MacKenzie 
what  caused  a  patient's  death,  they  should  say  : 

"  Why,  he  died  from  want  of  breath !  " 

"But   what   caused    the  want    of    breath?    You    are 
begging  the  question." 

"  Oh,  disease  (genus),  small-pox  (species)." 

69 


70  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OE  WIT. 

"Ah,  now  you  have  a  perfect  definition." 
Now,  I  ask  the  rhetoricians  what  causes  the  surprise? 
They  do  not  know.  I  have  discovered  this  cause.  It 
is  the  magnification  or  minification  of  a  thought  beyond 
the  truth  into  the  imagination.  So  I  find  all  humor  is 
pure  truth  or  nature;  while  all  wit  is  imagination. 
Humor  is  the  photograph,  while  wit  is  an  imaginative 
sketch. 

Now  we  can  separate  the  humorists  from  the  wits. 
Dickens  was  a  pure  humorist.  The  stories  of  "  Little 
Nell,"*  and  "  Smike,"  and  "  Oliver  Twist,"  were  descrip- 
tions true  in  letter  and  in  spirit.  No  imagination. 
The  characters  actually  lived,  and  Dickens  simply  pho- 
tographed them,  dialects  and  all. 

HUMOR. 

Here  is  a  little  bit  of  pure  humor:  I  caught  it 
through  the  phonograph. 

While  they  were  carrying  my  phonograph  across 
Central  Park  I  stopped  to  have  Moses,  a  little  black 
boy,  black  my  boots.  When  my  boots  were  half  done, 
Julius,  who,  it  seems,  had  been  quarreling  with  Moses 
in  the  morning,  came  up.     I  saw  there  was  fire  in  his 


*  The  London  Literary  World  says  :  "  Smike  is  still  living  in  Bury 
St.  Edmunds,  where  he  keeps  a  toy  shop.  He  is  a  tall,  hatchet-faced 
old  gentleman,  proud  of  his  romantic  eminence.  Carker  was  connected, 
through  hi>  father,  with  an  eminent  engineering  firm,  and  lived  in  Oxford 
Road,  where  he  prowled  about,  a  nuisance  to  all  the  servant  girls  in  the 
neighborhood.  Carker,  Major  Bagstock,  Mrs.  Skewton, — whose  real 
name  was  Campbell, — and  her  daughter  were  well-known  characters  in 
Leamington.  Fifty  years  ago  the  Shannon  coach,  running  between  Ips- 
wich and  London,  was  driven  by  a  big,  burly  old  fellow  named  Cole, 
who  was  the  veritable  elder  Weller." 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  III  MoR.  7  1 

eye,  and  I  held  the  phonograph  and  caught  tin's  exact 
dialogue: 

"Look  heah,  boy:  I'ze  dun  got  my  eye-ball  on  you, 
an'  de  fust  thing  you  know  I'll  pound  you   to  squash!" 

"Shoo  !     Does  you  know  who  you  is  conversin'  wid?" 

"Doan'  you  talk  to  me  dat  way,  black  man." 

"Who's  black  man?" 
You  is. 
bo  is  you. 

"Look  out,  boy!  A  feller  dun  call  me  a  niggah  one 
time,  and  the  county  had  to  bury  him." 

''An'  you  look  out  for  me,  black  man;  I'se  mighty 
hard  to  wake  up,  but  when  I  gits  aroused  I  wo/,  pi7.cn 
all  dc  way  frew." 

"Shoo!  I  just  want  to  say  to  you  dat  de  las'  fight 
I  was  in  it  took  eight  men  to  hold  me.  Doan'  you  get 
me  mad,  boy;  doan'  you  do  it." 

'  Bum !  I  dass  put  out  my  hand  right  on  yo' 
shoulder." 

"An'  I  dass  put  my  hand  on  yours." 

"  Now,  what  yer  gwine  ter  do?" 

"  Now,  what  yer  gwine  ter  do?" 

"Shoo!" 

"  Shoo !" 

As  Moses  moved  away  the  phonograph  ceased  to 
catch  his  last  words,  but  a  flash  Kodak  camera  would 
have  shown  him  with  his  left  hand  waving  defiantly, 
and  a  big  "shoo"  coming  out  of  his  mouth. 

You  can  catch  the  present  humor  with  the  phono- 
graph and  camera  for  it  goes  to  the  eye  and  ear.  but 
wit  goes  to  the  imagination  and  must  be  thought  of  to 
cause  laughter.  You  cannot  paint  wit,  for  you  cannot 
paint  a  thought.     You  can  paint  humor  but  not  wit. 


72  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

WIT. 

Now  here  is  a  bit  of  wit  that  cannot  be  appreciated 
without  a  little  thought : 

It  was  in  the  rational  psychology  class  at  Princeton 
and  Dr.  McCosh  was  instructing  the  class  in  term- 
ology. 

Turning  to  a  student,  the  doctor  commenced: 

"Now,  Mr.  Adams,  take  the  terms, 'self  evident' — 
terms  often  used;  what  do  we  mean  by  them?  Can 
you  express  their  meaning  in  other  words?" 

"Well,  hardly,  Doctor.  I  can't  recall  other  words 
that  would  express  the  same  meaning." 

"I  will  be  more  explicit,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  will 
illustrate.  Suppose,  speaking  anthropologically— sup- 
pose I  should  ask  you  if  such  a  being  as  the  fool  killer 
ever  existed?" 

"I  should  say  I  don't  know— I  never  met  him." 

"Ah.  that  is  self  evident,"  said  the  doctor.  "The 
class  is  dismissed." 

A  fool  cannot  laugh  at  this  story.  It  requires 
thought — imagination. 

HUMOR. 

Here  is  another  bit  of  phonographic  humor  between 
Mr.  Isaacstein  and  a  customer: 

"I  sells  you  dot  coat,  my  frent,  for  sayventeen  shil- 
ling; you  dake  him  along." 

"I  thought,  Isaacstein,  that  you  didn't  do  business 
on  Saturday.     Isn't  this  your  Sunday?" 

"My  frent "  (and  the  phonograph  caught  his  low 
reverent  voice),  "my  frent,  to  sell  a  coat  like  dot  for 
sayventeen  shilling  vas  not  peesness,  dot  vas  sharity." 

The  time  will  come  when  the  phonograph  and  Kodak 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  73 

will    do   more   truthful    humorous  work   than    Dickens 
did. 

Wit  requires  an  afterthought.      It  is  purely  mental. 

WIT. 

Another  case  of  wit : 

A  beautiful  young  lady,  a  member  of  the  400,  came 
into  Hazard's  drug  store,  under  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel,  and  asked  him  if  it  were  possible  to  disguise 
castor  oil. 

"It's  horrid  stuff  to  take,  you  know.  Ugh  !"  said  the 
young  lady,  with  a  shudder. 

'Why,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Hazard;  and  just  then,  as 
another  young  lady  was  taking  some  soda  water,  Mr. 
Hazard  asked  her  if  she  wouldn't  have  some  too.  After 
drinking  it  the  young  lady  lingered  a  moment  and 
finally  observed  : 

"Now  tell  me,  Mr.  Hazard,  how  you  would  disguise 

castor  oil?" 

"Why,  madam,  I  just  gave  you  some " 

"My  gracious  me  !"  exclaimed  the  young  lady,  "why, 

I  wanted  it  for  my  sister!" 

HUMOR. 

Here  is  a  quaint  little  love  story  and  a  proposal 
given  just  as  it  occurred  between  a  loving  couple  in 
East  Tennessee.  The  very  truth  of  it  makes  it 
humor: 

"D'ye  lak  me,  Sue?"  he  asked,  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"Purty  well,  Jim." 

"How  much,  d'ye  reckon?" 

"Oh,  er  good  deal,"  and  the  blushes  came  to  her 
cheeks. 


74  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

'But  how  much,  now?" 
'Oh,erlot." 

'How'd  yer  lak  ter " 

'Oh,  Jim!" 

'How'd  yer  know  what  I  war  goin'  ter  say?" 
'I  know'd." 
'What?" 
'You  know." 

'I  was  goin'  to  ast  ye  ef  ye'd  go  er  fishin'?" 
'Ye  wasn't  nuther." 
'Yes,  I  war." 
Jim! 
'H'm!" 

'Ye  don't  lak  me." 
'Yes,  I  do,  a  heap." 
'No,  ye  don't." 
'I  orter  know.' 
'How?" 

'Why,  Sue,  didn't  I  jist  ast  yer  ter  git  ready  an' 
go 


'Ye  said  ye  war  goin'  to  ast  me  ter  go  er  fishin'." 

'Sue!" 

'What,  Jim?" 

'I  didn't  mean  it.'' 

'Then  what  did  ye  mean?" 

'Oh,  Sue,  quit  yer  foolin'  an'  go  an'  ast  yer  paw." 


The  blank  lines  are  to  be  supplied  by  the  imagina- 
tion and  are  really  a  phantom  of  wit,  but  the  pure 
humor  stops  at  "paw." 

Would  you  like  to  read  a  courtship  which  occurred 
up  in  Puritan  New  England? 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  75 

Here  it  is  and  a  very  good  example  of  humor: 

Seven  long  years  ago,  Jonas  Harris  began  to  "keep 
company"  with  Hannah  Bell,  and  yet  in  all  that  time 
he  had  not  mustered  courage  to  propose  a  certain  im- 
portant question.  His  house  was  lonely  and  waiting; 
hers  was  lonely  enough  to  be  vacated,  and  still  Jonas 
could  not  bring  himself  to  speak  the  decisive  words. 
Many  a  time  he  walked  up  to  her  door  with  the  courage 
of  a  lion,  only  to  find  himself  a  very  mouse  when  she 
appeared.  He  had  never  failed  in  dropping  in  to 
cheer  her  loneliness  on  Christmas  evening,  and  this 
year  he  presented  himself  as  usual.  The  hearth  was 
swept,  the  fire  burned  brightly,  and  Miss  Hannah  was 
adorned  with  smiles  and  a  red  bow.  Conversation 
went  serenely  on  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  then,  when 
they  both  sat  paring  red -cheeked  apples  with  great 
contentment,  Jonas  began  to  call  upon  his  recollec- 
tions. 

"It's  a  good  many  years,  ain't  it,  Hannah,  since  you 
and  I  sat  here  together?" 

"Yes,  a  good  many." 

"I  wonder  if  I  shall  be  settin'  here  this  time  another 
year? 

"Maybe  I  shan't  be  at  home.  Perhaps  I  shall  go 
out  to  spend  the  evening  myself,"  said  Miss  Hannah 
briskly. 

This  was  a  blow  indeed,  and  Jonas  felt  it. 

"Where?"  he  gasped. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  returned,  beginning  to 
quarter  her  apple.  "I  might  be  out  to  tea— over  to 
your  house,  for  instance." 

"But  there  wouldn't  be  arybody  over  there  to  get 
supper  for  you." 


7 6  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Maybe  I  could  get  it  myself." 

"So  you  could  !  so  you  could  !"  cried  Jonas,  his  eyes 
beginning  to  sparkle.  "But  there  would  be  nobody 
to  cook  the  pies  and  cakes  beforehand." 

"Maybe  I  could  cook  'em." 

At  that  moment  Jonas's  plate  fell  between  his  knees 
to  the  earth  and  broke  in  two,  but  neither  of  them 
noticed  it. 

"Hannah,"  cried  he,  with  the  pent-up  emphasis  of 
seven  long  years,  "could  you  bring  yourself  to  think  of 
gettin'  married?" 

A  slow  smile  curved  her  lips;  surely  she  had  been 
given  abundant  time  for  consideration. 

"Maybe  I  could,"  she  returned  demurely,  as  she 
gently  stroked  the  neck  of  the  purring  kitten. 

"Who?"  asked  Jonas  falteringly. 

"It  might  be  you,  Jonas,"  and  a  film  came  into  Han- 
nah's eyes. 

"O  Hannah!" 

And  Jonas  has  admired  himself  to  this  day  for  lead- 
ing up  to  the  subject  so  cleverly. 

When  Mr.  Blathwait  asked  Mark  Twain  why  he  liked 
"Huckleberry  Finn"  the  best  of  all  his  books,  he  said  : 

"Because  it  has  the  truest  dialect.  I  was  born  in 
the  neighborhood  where  'Huckleberry  Finn'  lived. 
He  was  a  real  character.  I  lived  a  great  deal  of  my 
boyhood  on  a  plantation  of  my  uncle's,  where  Huckle- 
berry Finn  and  forty  or  fifty  negroes  lived,  and  so  I 
gradually  absorbed  their  dialect." 

Any  dialect, — Irish,  Scotch,  or  Negro,— when  faith- 
fully rendered,  is  humorous.  There  is  no  imagination 
used  in  rendering  a  true  dialect;  it  is  word  painting. 
The  humorist  who  can  write  a  true  dialect  is  as  much  an 


A7/://'  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.       •  77 

artist  as  the  man  who  can  paint  a  true  picture.  One 
is  done  with  the  brush  and  the  other  with  the  pen. 

But  as  the  simple  portrait  painter  who  copies  nature 
does  not  require  the  subtle  imagination  of  the  ideal 
artist  who  paints  faith  and  hope  and  love  and  despair; 
so  the  humorist  who  copies  nature  with  the  pen  docs 
not  require  the  imagination  and  fancy  of  the  wit  who 
soars  into  the  realms  of  thought.  Rubens,  when  he 
painted  the  humdrum  portrait  of  his  fat  wife,  did  not 
use  the  imagination  that  he  displayed  in  his  Antwerp 
"Descent  from  the  Cross,"  or  that  Murillo  used  in  his 
"Immaculate  Conception."  Teniers  was  a  humorous 
Dutch  painter.  His  pictures  were  portraits.  The  same 
with  Knaus  and  Bouguereau,  only  using  characters 
higher  up  in  the  social  scale.  Zamacrois  and  Vibcrt 
were  wits  with  the  brush.  They  added  imagination 
to  nature.  So  were  Hogarth  and  John  Leach,  and  so 
was  Nast  before  he  became  a  mugwump  and  had  to 
ridicule  truth  instead  of  error. 

The  dialects  when  rendered  truthfully  are  charming 
humor.  Dickens  always  used  them  and  so  does  Geo. 
W.  Cable  in  his  Creole  stories,  and  Joel  Chandler 
Harris  in  his  negro  sketches.  Bret  Harte  never  fails 
to  use  the  dialect  of  Calaveras,  and  John  B.  Gough  was 
always  felicitous  when  he  told  his  Cornish  stories.  The 
charm  of  Denman  Thompson  is  his  life-like  Yankee 
dialect,  and  Mrs.  Burnett  made  her  reputation  by  writ- 
ing "That  Lass  of  Lowrie's"  in  the  purest  Lancashire. 

A  writer  will  spend  a  week  on  one  column  of  dialect. 

To  illustrate  faithful  dialect  humor:  My  dining-room 
boy,  Fjancois,  whom  we  brought  with  us  from  Paris, 
could  never  understand  what  we  meant  by  "Jack  the 
Ripper,"  whom  he  called  "Jacques  ze  Rippair."     One 


78  ELI  rERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

day  it  all  came  to  him.     He  came  to  me  wringing  his 
hands  in  French  glee,  and  said : 

"I  like  ze  language  Americaine.  It  is  so  strong,  so 
true,  so  descripteeve.  I  go  to  ze  man  zat  cut  my  hair, 
zat  shave  my  barbe,  vat  you  call  my  beard.  I  ask,  'Vat 
is  Jacques  ze  Rippair?' 

"  'Jacques  ze  Rippair,'  he  say,  'Jacques  ze  Rippair. 
He  is  a  dandee.' 

"Zen,  ven  I  gets  home  to  my  house,  I  takes  my 
dictionnaire  and  I  looks  for  'Jacques  ze  Rippair,'  but  I 
not  find  him.  Zen  I  look  for  dandee,  and  I  find  that 
ze  word  is  dandy,  and  zat  it  means  a  'lady-killer.'  Zen, 
when  to  my  friend  I  say,  'Jacques  ze  Rippair  is  a  man 
vat  kills  ladees,'  he  says,  'Right  you  are.'  I  like  ze 
language  Americaine,  Messieur  Landown,  it  is  so  eezee 
to  understand." 

It  was  another  bit  of  true  dialect  humor — faithfully 
phonographed  Irish  brogue — when  Michael  Donan 
walked  into  the  sick  room  of  Patrick  Kelly.  Patrick 
lay  there  very  pale,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  we 
heard  Michael  exclaim: 

"Howly  Moses,  Pat,  it's  murtherin'  ill  ye're  lookin'! 
Fwat  in  the  name  av  th'  howly  Virgin's  the  mather?" 

"Michael  Donan!  an'  is  it  yourself?" 

"Yis." 

"Well,  yez  knows  that  blatherin'  spalpeen  av  Widdy 
Costigan's  second  husband?" 

"That  I  do." 

'  He  bet  me  a  dollar  to  a  pint  I  couldn't  schwally  an 
igg  widout  brakin'  th'  shell— th'  shell  av  it." 

"Naw!" 

"Yis." 

"Did  ye  do  it?" 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AXD  HUMOR.  79 

"I  did." 

"Then  fwat's  ailin'  ye?" 

"It's  doon  there,"  laying  his  hand  on  his  stomach. 
"If  I  joomp  about  1*11  br'ak  it  an'  cut  me  stummick 
wid  tli*  shell.  If  I  kape  quiet  the  dom  thing'H  hatch 
oot  an'  I'll  have  a  Shanghai  rooster  a-clauin'  me 
insides." 

Now  who  are  the  humorists  and  who  are  the  wits 
among  the  poets?  Judge  for  yourself  by  the  above 
standard.  Will  Carleton  is  a  humorous  poet,  and 
Lowell  in  'Hosea  Biglow."  Carleton's  poems  are 
true  in  letter  and  in  spirit — fact  and  dialect.  In  his 
farm  ballads  he  simply  records  nature  faithfully.  So 
does  Bret  Harte  in  "Jim,"  and  John  Hay  in  "Little 
Breeches." 

James  Whitcomb  Riley  tells  me  that  his  most 
humorous  poems  were  written  when  a  mere  child  wor- 
shiping at  the  shrine  of  nature.  How  true  is  his  boy 
poem  on  "Our  Hired  Girl": 

Our  hired  girl,  she's  'Lizabeth  Ann  ; 

An'  she  can  cook  best  things  to  eat  ! 
She  ist  puts  dough  in  our  pie  pan, 

An'  pours  in  sompin'  at's  good  and  sweet. 
An'  nen  she  salts  it  all  on  top 
With  cinnamon  ;  an'  nen  she'll  stop, 

An'  stoop,  an'  slide  it,  ist  as  slow, 
In  the  cook-stove  so's  'twon't  slop 

An'  git  all  spilled  ;  nen  bakes  it— so 

It  is  custard  pie,  first  thing  you  know  ! 
An'  nen  she'll  say  : 
"  Clear  out  o'  my  way  ! 
They's  time  fer  work,  and  time  fer  play, 

Take  your  dough  an'  run,  child,  run, 

Er  I  cain't  git  no  cookin'  done  !  " 


80  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  IV IT. 

Longfellow  and  Tennyson  soar  up  into  the  imagina- 
tion. Our  sentimental  poets  are  refined  wits.  They 
deal  entirely  in  the  imagination  and  fancy.  You  have 
no  idea  how  much  of  our  pleasure  is  caused  by  imagina- 
tion or  innocent  exaggeration.  We  see  it  all  around 
us.  If  a  person  imagines  a  thing  and  expresses  it, 
that  is  exaggeration.  You  can't  imagine  a  thing  that 
is.  You  must  imagine  something  that  is  not.  It  is 
only  the  brightest  people  who  have  vivid  imaginations, 
and  only  the  brightest  people  who  have  wit. 

The  sweetest  charm  of  the  poet  is  caused  by  his 
imagination  or  exaggeration.  When  the  divine  psalm- 
ist says,  "The  morning  stars  sang  together,"  he  don't 
want  to  deceive  you ;  he  exaggerates  to  please  you. 
The  stars  never  sang.  Sentimental  young  people  who 
have  been  out  late  at  night  have  listened  to  these 
stars  ever  since  Solomon  prevaricated,  but  they  never 
sang.     Don't  hold  the  poet  to  strict  account. 

Joaquin  Miller,  the  sweet  poet  of  the  Sierras,  in  a 
late  poem,  speaks  of  the  "clinking  stars." 

"Why,  Joaquin,"  I  said  when  I  met  him,  "did  you 
ever  hear  the  stars  clink?" 

"No,"  he  said,  laughing,  "but  the  old  poetical  exag- 
geration about  the  stars  singing,  got  to  be  a  'chestnut,' 
and  I  thought   I'd  make  mine  clink." 

Dear  old  Longfellow  was  a  sweet  Christian,  and  still 
he  tuned  his  lyre  and  sang: 

The  sun  kissed  the  dewdrops  and  they  were  pearls. 

Now  the  sun  never  kissed  any  dewdrops,  and  it 
wouldn't  have  made  pearls  of  them  if  it  had.  The 
aesthetic  poet,  in  rugged  Saxon,  is  a  rank  liar,  but  he 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF   WIT  AND  HUMOR.  8 1 

hides  behind  his  poet's  license,  and  we  say  he  has  the 
divine  gift  of  imagination — divine  afflatus! 

When  the  poets  drop  exaggeration  and  fancy,  and 
let  their  heroes  talk  the  dialect  of  nature,  they  become 
humorists.  Lowell's  "Biglow  Papers"  and  Will  Carle- 
ton's  dialect  farm  ballads,  I  say,  are  pure  humor. 

Mark  Twain  is  both  a  humorist  and  a  wit.  When- 
ever he  tells  the  absolute  truth,  close  to  life,  like 
Dickens,  he  is  a  humorist ;  but  just  the  moment  he  lets 
his  imagination  play — just  the  moment  he  begins  to  ex- 
aggerate—stretch it  a  little — then  that  humor  blossoms 
into  wit. 

To  show  the  reader  the  fine  dividing  line  between 
wit  and  humor — the  invisible  line — and  how  humor  can 
gradually  creep  into  wit  through  exaggeration,  Mark 
Twain,  in  one  of  his  books,  has  a  chapter  on  building 
tunnels  out  in  Nevada.  He  goes  on  for  five  pages  with 
pure  humor — pure  truth.  He  describes  those  miners 
just  as  they  are — describes  their  dialects,  describes 
their  bad  grammar,  describes  the  tunnel;  but  Mark 
can't  stick  to  the  truth  very  long  before  he  begins  to 
stretch  it  a  little.  He  soon  comes  to  a  miner  who 
thinks  a  good  deal  of  his  tunnel.  They  all  tell  him 
he'd  better  stop  his  tunnel  when  he  gets  it  through 
the  hill,  but  he  says  he  "guesses  not — it's  his  tunnel," 
so  he  runs  his  tunnel  right  on  over  the  valley  into  the 
next  hill.  You  who  can  picture  to  yourselves  this 
hole  in  the  sky,  held  up  by  trestle  ivork,  will  see  where 
the  humor  leaves  off  and  the  wit  begins — where  the 
truth  leaves  off  and  the  exaggeration  commences. 

We  see  humor  all  around  us  every  day.  Any  one  can 
write  humor  who  will  sit   down  and  write  the  honest 


82  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  W IT. 

truth.  There  is  no  imagination  in  humor,  while  wit 
is  all  imagination — like  the  tunnel.  Humor  is  what 
has  been;  wit  is  what  might  be.  I  saw  as  good  a 
piece  of  humor  to-day  as  I  ever  saw  in  my  life. 
I  wish  1  had  photographed  it.  I  would  if  I  had 
thought  that  it  could  be  so  good.  A  dear,  good  old 
lady  and  her  daughter  came  into  the  depot  at  Pough- 
keepsie.  She  wasn't  used  to  traveling,  and  was  very 
nervous.  Her  eyes  wandered  about  the  depot  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  she  walked  nervously  up  to  the  station 
window  and  tremblingly  asked  : 

"When  does  the  next  train  go  to  New  York?" 

"The  next  train,  madam,"  said  the  agent,  looking  at 
his  watch,  "goes  to  New  York  at  exactly  3.30." 

"Will  that  be  the  first  train?" 

"Yes,  madam,  the  first  train." 

"Isn't  there  any  freights?" 

"None." 

"Isn't  there  a  special?" 

"No,  no  special." 

"Now  if  there  was  a  special  would  you  know  it?" 

"Certainly  I  would." 

"And  there  isn't  any — ain't  they?" 

"No,  madam;  none." 

"Well,  I'm  awful  glad— awful  glad,"  said  the  old 
lady.     "Now,  Maria,  you  and  I  can  cross  the  track." 

How  does  the  humorist  do  his  work? 

I  will  tell  you.  I  will  lift  the  veil  right  here.  The 
humorist  takes  any  ordinary  scene,  like  the  old  lady  in 
the  depot,  and  describes  it  true  to  life.  That's  all. 
Dickens  used  to  go  down  into  the  slums  of  London 
and  get  hold  of  such  quaint  characters  as  Bill  Sykes 
and  Nancy.     Then  he  used  to  watch  them,  hear  every 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  83 

word  they  uttered,  hear  their  bad  grammar  and 
dialect,  see  every  act  they  performed.  Then  he  used 
to  come  into  his  room,  sit  down  and  write  a  photo- 
graph of  what  he  saw  and  heard.  .And  that  was 
humor — truth  in  letter  and  in  spirit. 

The  humorist  is  truer  than  the  historian  or  the 
poet.  The  historian  is  only  true  in  spirit,  while  the 
humorist  is  true  in  spirit  and  in  letter.  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  when  he  wrote  true  humor  was  truer  than 
Macaulay.  Take  King  James  of  Scotland.  He  had 
never  stepped  upon  English  soil.  lie  could  not  speak 
the  English  language.  He  spoke  a  sweet  Scotch 
dialect.  But  when  Macaulay  makes  King  James 
speak,  he  puts  in  his  mouth  the  pure  English  of  Addi- 
son and  Dr.  Johnson.  He  deceives  us  to  add  dignity 
to  his  history.  Not  so  with  Sir  Walter  Scott.  When 
he  describes  King  James  in  "Ivanhoe"  he  puts  nature's 
dialect  in  his  mouth— that  sweet  Scotch  dialect;  and 
Sir  Walter  Scott  is  truer  than  Macaulay. 

Again,  take  the  death-bed  of  Webster.  Bancroft 
says  the  great  orator  "raised  himself  on  his  pillow,  and 
for  an  instant  the  old  time  fires  gleamed  from  his  eagle 
eyes  as  he  exclaimed,  T  still  live!'  and  sinking  back, 
was  dead." 

This  sounds  pretty,  and  it  is  the  way  the  dignified 
historian  has  to  treat  the  scene.  The  humorist  would 
have  more  truth  and  less  dignity.  The  humorist  would 
describe  the  scene  as  Webster's  nurse,  who  saw  him  die 
at  Marshfield,  described  it  to  me: 

"Webster,"  he  said,  "lay  on  his  bed  so  quiet  that  it 
seemed  as  if  he  had  passed  away.  As  the  physician 
entered  the  room  he  glanced  at  the  reclining  figure  and 
repeated  half  to  himself: 


84  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"  'Guess  he's  gone  now!' 
'Not  yet,'  said  Webster,  'gimme  the  brandy,'  and, 
after  he  drank  it,  he  lay  motionless;  then  a  long  sigh, 
and  he  never  spoke  again." 

Bancroft  had  to  change  this  so  as  to  make  it  heroic, 
but  not  truthful. 

The  most  humorous  thing  the  "Danbury  News 
Man"  ever  wrote  was  that  account  of  putting  up  a 
stovepipe,  and  that  actually  occurred.  The  Danbury 
Nezvs  Man  and  his  wife  were  going  to  church  one  day, 
and  the  stovepipe  fell  down.  He  called  his  wife  back 
to  help  him  put  it  up;  but  she  was  a  very  religious 
woman,  and  went  on  to  church  and  left  him  to  put  up 
that  stovepipe  alone.  He  put  up  that  stovepipe. 
That  stovepipe  did  everything  that  any  stovepipe  could 
do.  It  didn't  go  out  of  the  room.  I  had  a  stovepipe 
once  that  got  out  the  back  door,  went  clear  around  the 
block  twice,  and  came  back  and  got  on  to  the  wrong 
stove.  Well,  after  he  got  the  stovepipe  put  up,  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  faithful  account  of  it,  and  you  enjoy 
reading  it.  You  say,  "That  is  so  true  !  That  man's  put 
up  a  stovepipe — he's  been  there  !" 

Now,  if  the  writer  had  wanted  to  add  wit  to  his  hu- 
mor, he  would  only  have  had  to  add  imagination.  In  his 
mind's  eye  he  could  have  put  two  joints  on  the  stove- 
pipe, and  the  soot  could  have  poured  right  out  of  one 
joint  down  his  shirt  collar,  and  he  could  have  shaken 
it  out  of  the  bottom  of  his  trowsers ;  and  the  other 
joint  could  have  slipped  right  over  his  head  and  taken 
off  one  of  his  ears.  But  that  would  have  been  a  lie,  for 
the  stovepipe  was  No.  6  and  his  head  was  No.  7. 

Another  of  the  humorous  creations  of  the  Danbury 
News  Man  are  his  description  of  cording  the  bedstead, 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  85 


and  Mrs.  Munson  "shooing"  the  hen.  We  can  see 
Mrs.  Munson  now.  Her  husband,  the  old  farmer,  had 
been  at  work  all  the  morning  with  two  hired  men  and 
three  dogs  trying  to  drive  the  hens  into  the  coop. 
Mrs.  Munson  looked  up  from  her  churning,  saw  the 
situation,  and  screamed  : 

"John!   I'll  'shoo'  those  hens!" 

Then  she  goes  out — gets  her  eyes  on  the  hens — holds 
up  her  dress  from  both  sides — just  surrounds  the  hens — 
then  drops  her  whole  body  as  she  says: 

"Sh !" 

That  settled  the  hen! 

Among  American  writers  C.  B.  Lewis  (M.  Quad)  and 
the  Danbury  News  Man  are  pure  humorists.  Their 
characters  are  all  real.  Old  Bijah  really  lived  in  the 
Court  House  at  Detroit.  Yes,  Brother  Gardner  once 
lived  in  the  flesh,  and  the  Lime-Kiln  Club  was.  Mr. 
Lewis  gave  Brother  Gardner's  dialect  so  true  to  life  in 
those  Lime-Kiln  Club  sermons  that  many  people  be- 
lieved the  club  actually  existed.  In  fact,  the  humorist 
showed  me  three  letters,  recently  received  from  three 
members  of  the  Kansas  Farmers'  Alliance,  who  wanted 
to  come  to  Detroit  and  join  that  club!  Mr.  Lewis  has 
now  moved  the  club  over  to  Thompson  Street,  New 
York,  and  we  expect  to  hear  of  the  old  Staten  Island 
farmers  coming  up  to  the  J Vorld  office  to  inquire  the 
way  to  Brother  Gardner's  church  ! 

I  asked  Mr.  Lewis  one  day  what  was  the  most  hu- 
morous thing  he  had  seen  lately. 

"I  would  be  ashamed  to  tell  you,"  he  said.  "It  was 
such  a  little  thing — but  so  true!" 

"What  was  it?" 

"Well,  a  man  came  into  the  house,  rushed  up  to  his 


86  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

wife,  and  said,  'My  dear  wife,  I've  just  done  the  smart- 
est thing  I  ever  did  in  my  life.' 

" 'Why,  George,'  said  his  wife,  'what  did  you  do? 
What  did  you  do?' 

"  'Why'  (looking  down  at  his  trowsers),  'I  rolled  up 
my  trousers  this  morning  before  they  got  muddy.' 

"It  was  such  a  little  thing,  but  so  true!" 

•  •  •  •  • 

What  of  Mark  Twain? 

Well,  Mark  is  both  a  humorist  and  a  wit.  His  descrip- 
tions in  "Roughing  it"  and  "Innocents  Abroad"  are 
generally  humorous.  He  uses  the  dialects  truthfully, 
and  his  characters  are  natural.  Then,  all  at  once,  he  will 
run  the  reader  plump  up  against  the  tomb  of  Adam  or 
the  bust  of  Columbus,  where  he  convulses  you  with  the 
wildest  wit,  the  craziest  of  imagination.  Tom  Sawyer 
whitewashing  the  fence  was  a  case  of  perfect  humor, 
perfect  truth — so  natural! 

Mark  Twain's  "Huckleberry  Finn"  is  the  truest  and 
best  thing  he  ever  wrote.  When  Raymond  Blathwait 
asked  Mr.  Twain  about  "Huckleberry  Finn,"  he  said: 

"The  only  one  of  my  own  books  that  I  can  ever  read 
with  pleasure  is  the  one  you  are  good  enough  to  say  is 
your  favorite,  'Huck  Finn,'  and  partly  because  I  know 
the  dialect  is  true  and  good.  I  didn't  know  I  could 
read  even  that  till  I  read  it  aloud  last  summer  to  one  of 
my  little  ones  who  was  sick." 

"How  do  you  define  wit?"  was  asked  Mr.  Twain. 

"Wit  is  the  legitimate  child  of  contrast.  Therefore, 
when  you  shall  have  found  the  very  gravest  people, 
and  the  most  lighthearted  people  in  the  world,  you 
shall  also  be  able  to  say  without  further  inquiry,  T  have 
found  the  garden  of  wit,  the  very  paradise  of  wit.     You 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  87 

may  not  know  it,  but  it  is  true,  if  a  man  is  at  a  funeral 
and  brokenhearted,  he  is  quite  likely  to  be  persecuted 
with  humorous  thoughts.  These  thoughts  are  funny 
by  contrast.  Now,  to  illustrate,  here  is  a  story:  "A 
clergyman  in  New  York  was  requested  by  a  man  to 
come  over  to  Brooklyn  to  officiate  at  his  wife's  funeral. 
The  clergyman  assented,  only  stipulating  that  there 
must  be  no  delay,  as  he  had  an  important  engagement 
the  same  day.  At  the  appointed  hour  they  all  met  in 
the  parlor,  and  the  room  was  crowded  with  mourning 
people;  no  sounds  but  those  of  sighs  and  sobbings. 
The  clergyman  stood  up  over  the  coffin  and  began  to 
read  the  service,  when  he  felt  a  tug  at  his  coat-tails, 
and  bending  down  he  heard  the  widower  whisper  in  his 
car: 

"  'We  ain't  ready  yet.' 

"Rather  awkwardly  he  sat  down  in  a  dead  silence. 
Rose  again  and  the  same  thing  took  place.  A  third 
time  he  rose  and  the  same  thing  occurred. 

"  'But  what  is  the  delay?'  he  whispered  back.  'Why 
are  you  not  ready?' 

"  'She  ain't  all  here  yet,'  was  the  very  ghastly  and 
unexpected  reply;  'her  stomach's  at  the  apothecary's.' 

"You  see,"  continued  Mr.  Twain,  "it  is  the  horizon- 
wide  contrast  between  the  deep  solemnity  on  the  one 
hand  and  that  triviality  on  the  other  which  makes  a 
thing  funny  which  could  not  otherwise  be  so.  But  in 
all  cases,  in  occurrences  such  as  that  I  have  just  de- 
scribed, it  is  solemn  and  grave,  culminating  in  the 
ridiculous." 

I  think  the  best  story  about  Mark  Twain  was  his 
answer  when  they  appealed  to  him  to  settle  a  religious 
controversy.     They  had  been  discussing  about  eternal 


88  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

life  and  future  punishment  for  the  wicked.  Is  or  is 
not  there  a  hell  or  heaven,  and  where  will  the  wicked 
go?  A  lady  finally  appealed  to  Mr.  Twain  and  a<ked 
him  what  he  thought  about  hell  or  heaven? 

"I  do  not  want  to  express  an  opinion,"  said  Mr 
Twain  gravely.  "It  is  policy  for  me  to  remain  silent. 
I  have  friends  in  both  places." 

A  serious  love  quarrel  would  be  humor  if  described 
truthfully. 

How  many  times  we  have  all  witnessed  the  little 
quarrels  of  loving  brides  and  grooms.  Picture  to  your- 
selves a  young  married  couple  fixing  up  their  first  home  : 

"How  glad  I  am,  dearie,  that  our  tastes  are  so  very 
similar,"  said  young  Mrs.  Honeylip  to  her  husband 
when  they  had  returned  from  their  bridal  tour  and  were 
furnishing  the  flat  in  which  they  were  to  be  "so  per- 
fectly happy." 

"We  agree  about  everything,  don't  we,  darling?" 
she  continued.  "We  both  wanted  cardinal  and  gray 
to  be  the  prevailing  tones  in  the  parlor;  we  agreed  ex- 
actly about  the  blue  room,  and  both  wanted  oak  for 
the  dining-room  and  hall.  We  like  the  same  kind  of 
chairs.  Oh,  we  agree  exactly,  don't  we?  and  how  nice 
it  is.  I'd  feel  dreadful  if  we  didn't  agree,  particularly 
about  any  important  thing." 

"So  would  I,  darling,"  he  said.  "It's  lovely  to  live 
in  such  perfect  harmony.  Now,  I  guess  I'll  hang  this 
lovely  little  water-color  your  aunt  gave  us  right  over 
this  cabinet,  shan't  I?" 

"I  don't  hardly  know,  my  dear.  Wouldn't  it  look 
better  over  that  bracket  on  the  opposite  wall?" 

"I  hardly  think  so,  love;  the  light  is  so  much  better 
here." 


NEW  /'///LOSOP//Y  OF  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  89 

"Do  you  think  so,  George?  Really,  now,  I  don't  like 
it  in  that  light.  " 

"You  don't?  Why,  it's  just  the  light  for  it.  It's  en- 
tirely too  dark  for  a  water-color  on  the  other  wall." 

"I  don't  think  so  at  all.  Water-colors  don't  want  a 
great  deal  of  light." 

"They  certainly  don't  want  to  be  in  the  shade." 

"They  certainly  don't  want  to  hang  in  a  perfect  glare 
of  light." 

"I  guess  I've  hung  pictures  before  to-day,  and " 

"Oh,  George,  how  cross  you  are  !" 

"I'm  no  crosser  than  you,  and " 

"You  are,  too,  and  I  —  I — oh,  how  can  you  be  so  cruel?" 

"Pshaw,  Helen,  I  only  said " 

"Oh,  I  know,  and  it  has  broken  my  heart." 

"There,  there,  dear " 

"Oh,  it  has  !  I — I — George,  do  you  really  want  me 
to  go  back  to  mamma  and  papa?" 

"Why,  darling,  you  know " 

"Be-be-cause,  boo,  hoo !  if  you  d-d-o,  boo,  hoo !  I 
will.  It  would  be  better,  boo,  hoo!  than  for  us  to 
quarrel  so  over  everything,  and " 

"There,  there,  my  dear,  I " 

"Mamma  was  afraid  we  were  too  unlike  in  disposition 
to  get  along  well,  but  I — I — oh,  George,  this  is  too  per- 
fectly dreadful!" 

I  have  known  a  kind  of  half  sad  humor  where  two 
earnest  people  misconstrue  each  other's  thoughts.  I 
once  heard  of  a  dialogue  between  a  sweet,  dear  old 
clergyman  in  Arkansas  and  an  illiterate  parishioner, 
which  illustrates  this  idea. 

"Your  children  have  all  turned  out  well,  I  reckon," 
said  the  clergyman  as  he  sat  down  to  dinner  with  the 


9°  ELI  PERKINS-THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

parishioner  he  had  not  seen  in  church  for  several 
years. 

"Well,  yes,  all  but  Bill,  pore  feller." 

"Drunk  licker,  I  reckon,"  said  the  clergyman  sor- 
rowfully. 

"Oh,  no,  never  drunk  no  licker,  but  hain't  amounted 
to  nothin'.     Bill  was  deceived,  an  it  ruint  him." 

"Love  affair?     Married  out  of  the  church,  may  be?" 

"Yes,  an'  a  mighty  bad  love  affair." 

"She  deceived  him,  eh?" 

"Terribly!  terribly." 

"Ruined  his  spiritual  life  and  he  married  a  scoffer?" 

"Oh,  no,  she  married  him;  married  him?  I  guess 
she  did  !" 

"But,  confidentially,  what  was  the  cause  of  your  son's 
grief  and  ruin?" 

"Well,  you  see,  Brother  Munson,  she  was  a  widder, 
an'  let  on  she  wuz  well  off,  but  she  wan't.  W'y  she 
wan't  able  to  get  Bill  a  decent  suit  o'  clothes  the  week 
airter  they  wuz  married.  Poor  Bill  has  gone  ragged 
ever  since  the  weddin'.  Poor  boy,  he's  lost  all  confi- 
dence in  wimmen,  Bill  has." 

Humor  is  sometimes  very  sad — almost  pathos;  but 
you  enjoy  this  pathos  as  much  as  you  do  humor.  En- 
joy pathos;  you  say?  See  me  prove  it!  How  many 
times  you  have  seen  a  sentimental  young  lady  reading 
a  pathetic  love  story.  She  would  read  and  cry — read 
and  cry — the  villain  still  pursued  her!  She  enjoyed 
that  pathos.  If  she  didn't  she'd  throw  that  book 
away — only  ten  cents  worth  of  book,  but  she  wanted 
a  dollar's  worth  of  cry ! 

I  saw  an  old  slave  woman  die  on  a  Louisiana  planta- 
tion after  the  war.  A  truthful  description  of  that 
scene  would  be  humor  and  pathos  blended. 


NEW  PHILOSOPHY  OF  WIT  AXD  HUMOR.  91 

Read  this  description  to  some  old  Southern  mother 
on  any  old  plantation  in  the  South,  and  see  joy  in  her 
face  and  her  eyes  suffused  in  tears. 

"Doctor,  is  I  got  to  go?"  asked  the  venerable  Chris- 
tian, as  her  ryes  filled  with  tears  <>f  joy. 

"Aunt  'Liza,  there  is  no  hope  for  you." 

"Bress  de  Great  Master  for  his  goodness.  Ise 
ready." 

The  doctor  gave  a  few  directions  to  the  colored 
women  that  sat  around  'Liza's  bed,  and  started  to  leave, 
when  he  was  recalled  by  the  old  woman,  who  was  drift- 
ing out  with  the  tide: 

"Marse  John,  stay  wid  me  till  it's  ober.  I  wants  to 
talk  ob  de  old  times.  I  knowed  you  when  a  boy  long 
'fore  you  went  and  been  a  doctor.  I  called  you  Marse 
John  den  ;  I  call  you  de  same  now.  Take  yo'  ole  mam- 
my's hand,  honey,  and  hold  it.  Ise  lived  a  long,  long 
time.  Ole  marster  and  ole  missus  hab  gone  before, 
and  the  chillun  from  de  ole  place  is  scattered  ober  de 
world.  I'd  like  to  see  'em  'fore  I  starts  on  de  journey 
to-night.  My  ole  man's  gone,  and  all  the  chillun  I 
nussed  at  dis  breast  has  gone  too.  Dey's  wait  in' 
for  dere  m udder  on  de  golden  shore.  I  bress  de 
Lord,  Marse  John,  for  takin'  me  to  meet  'em  dar. 
Ise  fought  de  good  fight,  and  Ise  not  afraid  to  meet 
de  Saviour.  No  mo'  wo'k  for  poor  ole  mammy,  no  mo' 
trials  and  tribulations — hold  my  hand  tighter,  Marse 
John — fadder — mudder  —  marster  —  missus — chillun — 
Ise  gwine  home." 

The  soul,  while  pluming  its  wings  for  its  flight  to  the 
Great  Beyond,  rested  on  the  dusky  face  of  the  sleeper, 
and  the  watchers  with  bowed  heads  wept  silently. 

She  was  dead. 


WILD  WEST  EXAGGERATIONS. 


The  Wit  of  Exaggeration — Wonderful  Fishing  and  Hunting  Stories — 
The  Lying  Tournament  of  the  Press  Club — Western  Imagination — 
Wild  Bill,  Bill  Nye,  and  Eli  Compete. 

I  HAVE  always  found  the  greatest  exaggerators  in 
the  West.  They  live  where  the  mountains  are  high 
and  the  prairies  are  broad.  Their  imaginations  are 
affected  by  great  distances  and  great  heights.  That  is 
the  reason  all  the  great  stories  which  astonish  the 
East  come  in  from  Colorado  or  Wyoming.  The 
imagination  of  the  city  man  who  looks  up  against  a 
brick  wall  is  dwarfed,  but  when  we  stand  on  the  broad 
plains  of  Kansas  and  look  a  hundred  miles  and  see 
Pike's  Peak  rearing  her  snowy  dome  into  the  azure 
skies,  why  our  stories  smack  of  the  distance.  Then  in 
the  West  thought  is  free,  and  they  are  not  troubled 
with  these  compunctions  of  conscience.  In  the  East 
here  many  of  us  are  so  good — so  good ! — that  if  we  get 
hold  of  an  exaggerated  joke  we  go  right  out  back  side 
of  the  orchard,  get  right  down  in  the  corner  of  the 
fence  and  giggle — all  to  ourselves.  That's  the  meanest 
kind  of  close  communionism.  But  in  the  West,  if  a 
man  discovers  a  good  joke,  he  wants  to  get  on  the 
mountain  top  and  proclaim  his  good  tidings  of  great 
joy  to  all  the  world.  So  go  West  to  find  imagina- 
tion: go  to  the  prairies  or  the  mountains,  go  to  Kan- 
sas or  Nebraska;  that's  where  exaggeration  lives,  that's 

92 


WILD    WEST  EXAGGERATIONS.  93 

where  it  stays.  Let  exaggeration  get  away  from  Kan- 
sas, and,  if  there  isn't  a  string  tied  to  it  it  will  go  right 
back  there  again — so  natural! 

Yes,  I've  met  some  of  our  grandest  imaginers  in 
prairie  schooners, — tattered  and  torn  and  ragged,  roam- 
ing through  the  nation's  public  land,  away  from  civ- 
ilization, and  where  no  man  had  seen  the  rivers  or 
walked  on  that  virgin  soil  before. 

One  day,  out  in  Sioux  County,  the  extreme  north- 
western county  of  Nebraska,  I  met  one  of  these  pro- 
fessional homesteaders.  I  le  stood  by  a  prairie  schooner, 
out  of  which  came  a  stovepipe.  Behind  was  a  cow 
and  calf  and  two  dogs. 

"Where  is  your  home?"   I  asked. 

"H'n't  got  no  house,"  he  said,  as  he  kicked  one  of 
the  dogs  and  took  a  chew  of  tobacco. 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"Where  d'  I  live!"  he  exclaimed,  with  the  grandeur 
of  a  king.  "Where  d'  I  live?  I  don't  have  to  live  any- 
where. I'm  marchin'  ahed  of  civ'lization,  sir.  I'm 
homesteadin'." 

"Well,  where  do  you  sleep?" 

"Sleep?  I  sleep  over  on  the  government  land, 
drink  out  of  the  North  Platte,  eat  jack  rabbits  and  raw 
wolf.  But  it's  gettin'  too  thickly  settled  round  here 
for  me.  I  saw  a  land  agent  up  at  Buffalo  Gap  to-day, 
and  they  say  a  whole  family  is  comin'  up  the  North 
Platte  fifty  miles  below  here.  It's  gettin'  too  crowded 
for  me  here,  stranger.  I  leave  for  the  Powder  River 
country  to-morrow.     I  can't  stand  the  rush!" 

Again,  I  was  out  in  Kansas  City  after  that  great 
cyclone  they  had  there  three  years  ago.  Terrible 
cyclone !     A  third  of  Kansas  City  blown  away — three 


9*  ELI  TERKIXS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

splendid  churches  went  up  with  the  rest.  But  they 
were  all  perfectly  happy.  You  can't  make  those  Kan- 
sas people  feel  bad  since  they've  got  prohibition.  If 
they  have  grasshoppers  out  there  now,  they  telegraph 
right  over  to  New  England,  "Got  grasshoppers!  Got 
grasshoppers ! !"  And  then  they  claim  that  their  land 
is  so  rich  that  they  raise  two  crops,  grasshoppers  and 
corn. 

Well,  the  next  day  after  I  got  to  Kansas  City,  I 
went  up  on  the  bluffs  with  Colonel  Coates.  He  was 
going  to  show  me  where  his  house  had  stood  the  day 
before  the  cyclone.  Not  one  brick  left  on  another; 
trees  blown  out  by  the  roots! 

Said  I,  "Colonel,  you  had  a  terrible  cyclone  here 
yesterday,  didn't  you?" 

"Well,  there  was  a  little  d-r-a-f-t " 

"Well,"  said  I,  "Colonel,  how  hard  did  it  blow  here 
in  Kansas  City?  Don't  deceive  me,  now;  how  hard 
did  it  blow?" 

"Blow,"  he  said,  "why,  it  blew — it  blew  my  cook 
stove — blew  it  away  over — blew  it  seventeen  miles, 
and  the  next  day  came  back  and  got  the  griddles!" 

"Did  it  hurt  anybody?" 

"Hurt  anybody!  Why,  there  were  some  of  those 
Farmers'  Alliance  members  of  the  legislature  over  here 
looking  around  with  their  mouths  open.  We  told  'em 
they'd  better  keep  their  mouths  closed  during  the 
hurricane,  but  they  were  careless — left  their  mouths 
open,  and  the  wind  caught  'em  in  the  mouth  and 
turned  'em  inside  out!" 

"Did  it  kill  them?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"No,"  said  the  colonel,  wiping  his  eyes,  "it  didn't 
kill  'em,  but  they  were  a  good  deal  discouraged. 


WILD    WEST  EXAGGERATIONS.  95 

"Why,"  he  continued  enthusiastically, "it  bleu*  some 
of  those  Farmers'  Alliance  men — blew  'em  right  up 
against  a  stone  wall  and  flattened  'em  out  as  flat  as 
pancakes — and " 

"Why,  what  did  you  do  with  them?"   I  asked. 

"  Do  with  them  !  Why,  we  went  out  the  next  day-i— 
scraped  them  farmers  off — scraped  off  several  barrels 
full  of  'em — and  sent  them  over  to  New  England  and 
sold  them  for  liver  pads!" 

Out  in  Dakota  they  have  imaginations  as  elastic  as 
their  climate:  "One  day,"  said  Elder  Russell,  "it  is  a 
blizzard  from  Winnipeg,  and  the  next  day  it  is  a  hot 
simoon  from  Texas.  Sometimes  the  weather  changes 
in  a  second.  Now,  one  morning  last  spring,  to  illus- 
trate, Governor  Pierce,  of  Bismarck,  and  I  were  snow- 
balling each  other  in  the  courtyard  of  the  capitol. 
Losing  my  temper,  for  the  governor  had  hit  me  pretty 
hard,  I  picked  up  a  solid  chunk  of  ice  and  threw  it 
with  all  my  might  at  his  excellency,  who  was  standing 
fifty  feet  away." 

"Did  it  hurt  him?"   I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  the  clergyman  regretfully,  "it  did  hurt 
him,  and  I'm  sorry  I  did  it  now,  but  it  was  unin- 
tentional. You  see,  as  the  chunk  of  ice  left  my  hand, 
there  came  one  of  those  wonderful  climatic  changes 
incident  to  Dakota;  the  mercury  took  an  upward  turn, 
the  ice  melted  in  transit,  and  the  hot  water  scalded 
poor  Governor  Pierce  all  over  the  back  of  his  neck." 

I  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  exaggeration  among 
our  newspaper  men.  The  smart  reporter  is  boiling  over 
with  ideas  which  he  cannot  hold  within  the  narrow 
boundaries  of  truth. 

But  the  reporter  tries  to  be  truthful.     All  the  b<^t 


9»  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

humor  we  have  comes  from  the  pen  of  the  conscientious 
reporter  who  describes  little  true  things  close  to  life. 
Dickens  was  a  reporter,  and  the  stories  of  "Little  Dor- 
rit,"  and  "Dick  Swiveller,"  and  "David  Copperfield" 
were  little  true  descriptions  of  real  characters  which  he 
had  met  in  his  reportorial  career. 

Uncle  John  Wood,  the  father  of  the  New  York 
Press  Club,  and  who  used  to  run  his  blue  pencil  through 
the  first  articles  I  ever  wrote,  told  me  about  an  enter- 
prising and  truthful  reporter  in  Chicago. 

"A  Chicago  reporter,"  said  Uncle  John,  "was  detailed 
to  write  up  a  case  of  dissection  of  a  drowned  young 
lady  in  the  medical  college.  He  was  very  ambitious 
and  went  to  his  work  early  in  the  day — hours  before 
the  dissection  took  place.  Before  the  doctors  as- 
sembled, he  saw  the  corpse,  with  several  others,  laying 
on  the  table.  To  kill  time,  before  the  doctors  arrived, 
he  commenced  writing  a  description  of  the  room  and  a 
description  of  the  corpse.  All  at  once  he  was  startled 
to  see  one  of  the  corpses  on  a  side  table  move.  Then 
he  heard  a  rustling.  Then  the  corpse  sat  up  and 
spoke ! 

"  'Who  are  you  ?'  asked  the  corpse,  pointing  his  finger 
at  the  reporter. 

"  'I'm  a  reporter  on  the  morning  News.  I'm  Eugene 
Field.  I've  been  sent  here  to  describe  the  dissection 
of  the  droAvned  girl.' 

"  'What  are  you  writing  about  now?' 

"T'm  describing  the  appearance  of  the  room  and 
the  beautiful  corpse.' 

"  'Oh,  pshaw,  young  man,  you're  too  late  for  that. 
I  sent  that  in  to  the  Tribune  yesterday.  I've  been 
laying  here  two  days.'  " 


/ 1 TILD    1 1  '/■:  S  7 "  EX  A  GGERA  TIONS.  9  7 

Can  newspaper  men  exaggerate? 

Sometimes,  if  the  fee  is  commensurate  with  the 
imagination  required. 

One  night,  after  I  had  made  a  little  speech  at  a 
dinner  given  by  the  New  York  Press  Club  to  General 
Felix  Angus  of  the  Baltimore  Avicrican,  the  boys  got 
to  telling  exaggerated  stories  about  mean  men. 

"Talking  about  mean  men,"  said  Colonel  Cockerill, 
"I  know  a  man  on  Lexington  Avenue  who  was  the 
meanest  man  in  New  York." 

"How  mean  is  that?"  1  asked: 

"Why,  Eli,"  he  said,  "he  is  so  mean  that  he  keeps 
a  five  cent  piece  with  a  string  tied  to  it  to  give  to 
beggars;  and  when  their  backs  are  turned,  he  jerks  it 
out  of  their  pockets! 

"Why,  this  man  is  so  confounded  mean,"  continued 
the  gentleman,  "that  he  gave  his  children  ten  cents 
apiece  every  night  for  going  to  bed  without  their 
supper,  but  during  the  night,  when  they  were  asleep, 
he  went  upstairs,  took  the  money  out  of  their  clothes, 
and  then  whipped  them  in  the  morning  for  losing  it !" 

"Does  he  do  anything  else?" 

"Yes,  the  other  day  I  dined  with  him,  and  I  noticed 
the  poor  little  servant-girl  whistled  all  the  way  upstairs 
with  the  dessert — and  when  I  asked  the  mean  old 
scamp  what  made  her  whistle  so  happily,  he  said : 

'"Why,  I  keep  her  whistling  so  she  can't  eat  the 
raisins  out  of  the  cake.'  " 

"But,"  I  said,  "  I  knew  a  meaner  man  than  that  up 
in  central  New  York." 

"Well,  now,  hear  that!"  they  all  said.  "But  how 
mean  was  he?" 

"Why,    his    name    was    Deacon    Munson,    and    his 


9§  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

neighbors  said  he  was  so  mean  that  he  used  to  stop 
his  clock  nights — to  keep  the  gearing  from  wearing 
out." 

"Oh,  come  off!" 

"I  didn't  see  this,  gentlemen,"  I  continued,  "but  the 
neighbors  said  the  deacon  kept  a  dairy,  and  after 
skimming  his  milk  on  top,  he  used  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  if  no  one  was  looking,  he  would 
turn  it  over  and  skim  it  on  the  bottom.  But  that 
wasn't  dishonest.  It  was  only  frugal.  He  had  a  per- 
fect   right    to    skim    it    on    the    sides — on   the   end — 

» » 

an 

"Oh,  now  Eli !"  interrupted  several  voices. 

"Fact,"  I  said,  "honest  fact;  but  there  was  one 
frugal  thing  the  deacon  did  that  I  have  never  yet 
mentioned.  He  was  very  close  about  domestic 
matters — about  the  cooking.  Didn't  want  anything 
wasted ;  and  he  used  to  go  over  to  the  butcher's  shop 
every  Saturday  night,  take  off  his  old  slouch  hat,  full 
of  something  or  other,  and  ask  the  butcher  if  he 
wouldn't  please  restuff — them — sausage  skins?" 

I  looked  around  for  a  response,  but  the  Press  Club 
was  gone. 

One  solitary  man  remained.  He  was  an  old  miner 
from  Idaho,  who  had  come  as  a  guest. 

"Such  Sunday-school  stories  as  you  New  Yorkers 
have  just  told,"  he  said,  "don't  startle  an  old  Idaho 
miner  at  all ;  and  for  the  credit  of  my  State  I  want  to 
present  her  claims  for  meanness  before  I  go." 

"What,  Idaho  people  mean?"  I  said. 

"The  most  selfish  people  on  earth,  sir.  I'm  an 
Idaho  man  myself." 

"How  mean  are  they?" 


WILD   WEST  EXAGGERATIONS.  99 

"Well,  take  my  case.  I  run  a  'wildcat'  under  a 
schoolhouse  in  Boise  City,  and  struck  a  rich  mine,  and 
yet  they  were  so  mean  that  they  wouldn't  let  me  do 
any  blasting  during  school  hours  for  fear  of  disturbing 
the  children.  I  had  to  work  at  nights  altogether,  and 
they  even  charged  me  thirty  cents  for  breaking  the 
windows." 

"Indeed  !" 

"And  in  another  case,  three  Idaho  men  jumped  a 
fellow's  claim  before  I  could  get  there,  and  they 
wouldn't  let  me  join  'em.  D'you  know  what  I  had  to 
do?  Why,  I  tlug  a  canal  from  the  river  three  miles 
away  and  let  the  water  in  and  druv  them  jumpers 
out,  and  then  the  coroner  who  sat  on  the  bodies  made 
me  pay  for  the  coffins,  and  charged  me  $12  for  a  funeral 
sermon  of  seven  minutes  long!  No,  sir;  don't  you 
never  go  beyond  Colorado  if  you  want  fair  treat- 
ment." 

They  were  talking  one  night  down  at  the  Press  Club 
about  '  presence  of  mind,"  when  Major  Bundy,  of 
the  Mail  and  Express,  said  : 

'Why,  one  day  Amos  J.  Cummings  was  sitting  at 
his  desk  in  the  Sun  office  writing  up  one  of  his  imagin- 
ary clambakes,  when  a  stroke  of  lightning  descended 
through  the  roof,  stripped  him  of  his  clothing,  even  to 
his  boots,  then  threw  him  down  on  to  the  bronze 
statue  of  Franklin  and  left  him  paralyzed  and  unable 
to  move  a  muscle. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Joseph  Howard,  "and  poor  Amos 
was  killed?" 

"No,  sir.  Mr.  Cummings  retained  complete  con- 
sciousness through  it  all,  and  being  on  the  spot  was 
enabled  to  write  up  a  veracious  account  of  the  affair. 


ioo  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

He  has  fully  recovered  and  is  now  a  member  of  con- 
gress, in  good  standing." 

Again,  you  will  see  imagination  among  the  sailors 
as  you  sail  down  the  long  rivers  or  up  to  the  Arctic 
Seas  or  around  Cape  Horn.  Sailors'  yarns  extend 
around  the  world.  It  is  the  imagination  of  the  sailor 
which  creates  the  sea  serpent  and  the  imaginative  ter 
rors  of  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  which  are  as  much  a  myth 
as  the  mountaineer's  creation  of  William  Tell. 

You  see  the  imagination  among  the  owners  of 
swift  horses.  The  race  tracks  and  long  races  of 
fast  horses  help  imagination  in  Kentucky.  Let  a 
Kentuckian  get  hold  of  a  new  joke,  and  he  just 
leaps  on  to  a  thoroughbred  horse  and  flies  for  his 
neighbors.  If  a  horse  ever  got  lame  around  Lexington 
his  master  lamed  him  getting  there  early  with  a  new 
joke,  and  no  mean  man  does  that.  Oh,  the  man  that 
rides  up  in  front  of  your  house  a  cold,  stormy  day, 
beckons  to  you,  and  you  come  shivering  down  to  the 
gate,  and  he  tells  you  a  joke  that  makes  you  laugh,  ha! 
ha!  and  you  go  back  into  the  house  and  put  your  arms 
around  your  wife's  neck  and  kiss  her — no  mean  man 
does  that ! 

Now,  I  was  down  in  Kentucky  last  spring,  during 
the  overflow  on  the  Ohio,  and  I  went  across  the  Ohio 
to  Cairo — Cairo  on  the  Ohio  River — and  sometimes 
under  it.  It  was  a  great  deluge.  But  the  women 
were  all  perfectly  happy.  If  there  is  anything  that  a 
woman  loves — utterly  loves — it  is  to  have  plenty  of 
nice,  wet  water  to  wash,  and  as  the  water  had 
been  pouring  down  the  chimneys  for  the  last  week 
faster  than  it  could  run  out  of  the  front  door,  they 
were  perfectly  happy.     But  the  next  day  after  I  got 


WILD    II 7. 5  /'  EX  A  GGERA  TIONS.  I  o  I 

there,  the  river  went  down  and  the  streets  were  very 
muddy.  I  met  a  Kentucky  clergyman  there  who  told 
me  about  the  mud. 

"You  ought  to  see  the  mud  over  in  Levy  Street," 
he  said;  "mud!  mud!  mud!  Why,  I  was  riding  over 
there  in  my  carriage  this  morning,  and  I  jumped  off 
and  went  into  the  mud  clear  to  my  ankles." 

"Why,"  said  I,  "that  wasn't  very  deep." 

"Well,"  he  said,  "I  jumped  head  first. 

"But  you  ought  to  go  over  on  Water  Street,  there's 
mud  for  you  !  Why,  I  was  walking  along  on  Water 
Street — walking  along  carefully  (they  all  walk  carefully 
in  Cairo — buckshot  land),  walking  along  carefully  right 
in  the  middle  of  the  street,  when  I  saw  a  stovepipe 
hat.  I  ran  up  to  it  and  kicked  it,  and  hit  a  man  right 
in  the  ear. 

"Wrhat  are  you  doing  here?'  I  asked;  'what  are  you 
doing  here?' 

'Keep    still,  keep  still,   keep    still!'  he  said.     'I'm 
sitting  in  a  load  of  hay.'  " 

After  lecturing  at  Deadwood  I  went  over  to  the  Red 
Cloud  Agency  with  the  Quaker  Indian  Commissioners. 
Wild  Bill,  the  famous  hunter  and  Indian  scout,  was  in 
the  party.  On  the  trip  the  conversation  started  about 
famous  rain  storms;  and  Wild  Bill  had  been  giving  his 
experience  to  General  Miles. 

A  little  while  afterward  a  Quaker  clergyman,  who 
was  seeking  after  reliable  information  for  his  govern- 
ment report,  came  up  to  Bill  and  said: 

"Let  me  see,  what  was  that  story  thee  was  narrating 
about  storms  to  General  Miles?" 

"Well,"  said  Wild  Bill,  as  he  winked  one  eye  at  the 
general  and  looked  down  the  muzzle  of  his  pistol  to 


102  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

see  if  it  was  loaded,  "I  was  tellin'  the  ginral  how  I  seen 
clouds  makin'  to  the  north'ard  and  I  knowed  it  was 
going  to  settle  in  for  thick  weather  round  Deadwood. 
I  told  my  son  to  look  out,  and  in  less  than  half  an 
hour  there  broke  the  doggondist  storm  I  ever  seed. 
Rain!  Why,  gen'lemen,  it  rained  so  hard  into  the 
muzzle  of  my  gun  that  it  busted  the  darned  thing  at 
the  breech !  Yes,  sir.  And  the  water  began  to  rise 
on  us,  too.  Talk  about  your  floods  down  South! 
Why,  gen'lemen,  the  water  rose  so  rapidly  in  my 
house  that  it  flowed  up  the  chimney  and  streamed  300 
feet  up  in  the  air !  We  got  it  both  ways  that  trip,  up 
and  down !" 

"Do  we  understand  thee  is  relating  facts  within  the 
scope  of  thine  own  experience?"  demanded  the  clergy- 
man, with  his  mouth  wide  open. 

"Partially  mine  and  partially  my  son's,"  answered 
the  truthful  Bill.  "He  watched  it  go  up,  and  I 
watched  it  come  down !  But  you  can  get  some  idea 
of  how  it  rained  when  I  tell  you  that  we  put  out  a 
barrel  without  any  heads  into  it,  and  it  rained  into  the 
bunghole  of  the  barrel  faster  than  it  could  run  out  at 
both  ends!" 

"Which  of  you  saw  this,  thee  or  thy  son?"  inquired 
the  clergyman. 

"We  each  watched  it  together,  my  son  and  me,"  re- 
turned Wild  Bill,  "till  my  son  got  too  near  the  barrel 
and  was  drowned.  Excuse  these  tears,  gen'lemen,  but 
I  can  never  tell  about  that  storm  without  crying." 

"Verily  the  truth  is  sometimes  stranger  than  fiction," 
said  the  clergyman.     "Verily  it  is." 

That  night,  after  we  got  back  to  General  Miles's 
camp,  several  of  the  old  scouts  who  heard  Wild  Bill's 


WILD   WEST  EXAGGERATIONS.  103 

success  with  the  Quaker  Indian  Commissioners  began 
telling  storm  stories. 

"Talking  about  winds,  heavy  winds,"  said  Sandy 
McGuire,  "why,  I  saw  a  man  in  Cheyenne  sitting 
quietly  on  his  doorstep  citing  a  piece  of  pie.  Suddenly, 
before  he  could  get  into  the  house,  the  wind  struck 
him.  The  gale  first  blew  the  house  down,  and  then 
seized  the  man,  carried  him  through  the  air  a  hundred 
yards  or  so,  and  landed  him  in  a  peach  tree.  Soon  after- 
ward a  friendly  board  from  his  own  house  came  floating 
by.  This  he  seized  and  placed  over  his  head  to  protect 
himself  from  the  raging  blast,  and — finished  his  pie." 

"That  was  a  windy  day  for  that  part  of  Wyoming,  I 
presume,"  said  Mr.  Wm.  Nye,  of  Laramie;  "but  that 
would  not  compare  with  one  of  our  Laramie  zephyrs. 
Why,  gentlemen,  out  in  Laramie,  during  one  of  our 
ordinary  gales,  I've  seen  bowlders  big  as  pumpkins  fly- 
ing through  the  air.  Once,  when  the  wind  was  blow- 
ing gravestones  around,  and  ripping  water  pipes  out  of 
the  ground,  an  old  Chinaman  with  spectacles  on  his 
nose  was  observed  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  town 
seated  on  a  knoll,  calmly  flying  his  kite — an  iron  shutter 
with  a  log-chain  for  a  tail." 

"Yes,"  said  a  young  Harvard  graduate,  who  hail 
just  come  from  Dakota,  "they  do  have  quite  windy 
weather  out  in  Wyoming,  but  if  you  want  to  sec  real 
wind  you  must  see  a  Dakota  blizzard.  They  are  very 
remarkable.  One  day  as  I  was  passing  a  hotel  in 
Bismarck  the  cap  flew  from  one  of  the  chimneys.  It 
was  a  circular  piece  of  sheet  iron,  painted  black,  slightly 
convex,  and  the  four  supports  were  like  legs.  The 
wind  carried  it  down  street,  and  it  went  straddling 
along  like  a  living  thing." 


104         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Well,  what  was  it?"  asked  Wild  Bill. 

"Why,  it  turned  out  to  be  a  cockroach  from  the 
hotel,  and,  by  George!  I  never  saw  anything  like  it," 
then  he  added — "outside  of  Boston." 

"They  used  to  say  out  in  Kansas,"  said  Sandy  Mc- 
Guire,  "that  wind  would  blow  grasshoppers  away.  I 
guess  not.  I  saw  a  Kansas  grasshopper  face  a  hurri- 
cane the  other  day  for  seven  hours,  and  then  yanked 
a  shingle  off  the  house  and  commenced  fanning  him- 
self, saying  it  was  awful  sultry." 

Now  and  then  we  meet  hunters  and  fishers  in  New 
England  who  can  tell  a  fair  story.  Such  a  man  was 
old  Nat  Willey,  who  lived  up  in  the  White  Mountains 
near  the  Conway  House.  One  evening  there  were  a 
group  of  guests  sitting  around  the  blazing  logs  of  the 
Conway  House.  There  were  several  Kentuckians,  a 
Colorado  man,  and  Old  Nat.  They  had  all  told  stories 
of  long  shots,  but  Old  Nat  kept  perfectly  quiet.  A 
Kentuckian  told  about  his  father,  who  was  a  pioneer 
with  Daniel  Boone,  and  how  he  had  killed  a  deer  at  a 
distance  of  two  miles! 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence,  which  was  broken  by 
Charley  Head,  who  said  to  Old  Nat : 

"Look  here,  Uncle  Nat,  how  about  that  rifle  that 
General  Knox  gave  you.  That  could  shoot  some, 
couldn't  it?" 

"You  mean  the  one  I  had  to  fire  salted  balls  from?" 

"Yes,  tell  us  about  it." 

"Pshaw!  It  don't  matter.  Let  the  old  piece  rest 
in  its  glory." 

And  modest  Old  Nat  would  have  sat  back  out  of 
the  way,  but  the  story-tellers  had  become  suddenly 
interested. 


WILD   WEST  EXAGGERATIONS.  105 

"Let  us  hear  about  it,"  pleaded  the  gentleman 
whose  father  had  been  a  compatriot  with  Daniel 
Boone.  "Did  I  understand  you  that  you  salted  your 
bullets?" 

"Always,"  said  Nat,  seriously  and  emphatically. 

"And  what  for,  pray?" 

"Because,"  answered  the  old  mountaineer,  with 
simple  honesty  in  look  and  tone,  "that  rifle  killed  at 
such  a  distance  that,  otherwise,  especially  in  warm 
weather,  game  would  spoil  with  age  before  I  could  reach 
it." 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR. 


The  Great  Satirists,  Cervantes,  Dean  Swift,  Juvenal,  Nasby — Christ  uses 
Satire  to  Kill  Error— Satirizing  the  Jury  System — Satirizing  Blus- 
tering Lawyers — Satirizing  Society  and  the  Dude — Satirizing  the 
Agnostic — Satirizing  Huxley,  Herbert  Spencer,  and  Ingersoll — 
Satire  in  Politics  brings  Letters  from  Blaine  and  President  Harrison. 

AFTER  discovering  the  difference  between  wit  and 
humor,  and  after  describing  and  illustrating  this 
difference  so  plainly  that  a  schoolboy  can  see  it,  I 
turn  my  thought  toward  satire  and  ridicule.  I  find 
satire  and  ridicule  are  species  of  the  genus  wit. 
Neither  are  true.  Both  are  exaggerations.  Satire  is 
to  kill  error  and  ridicule  is  to  kill  truth.  The  satirist 
and  ridiculer  deal  in  the  imagination.  The  satirist  ex- 
aggerates an  error,  makes  it  hideous,  and  you  indig- 
nantly stamp  it  out.  The  ridiculer  exaggerates  a 
truth,  makes  it  grotesque,  and  you  laugh  it  out. 

Satire  is  one  of  the  strongest  weapons  we  have. 
The  Satires  of  Juvenal  changed  the  politics  of  Rome, 
Dean  Swift  changed  the  political  aspect  of  England 
with  his  "Tale  of  a  Tub,"  Cervantes  broke  up  the 
awful  custom  of  knight-errantry  in  Spain  with  his 
"Don  Quixote,"  and  Nasby,  with  his  cross-road  letters, 
did  more  for  the  Union  during  the  last  war  than  a 
brigade  of  soldiers. 

I  say  Nasby  was  a  satirist.  He  always  called  him- 
self a  satirist — not  a  humorist.  He  never  tried  to 
produce  laughter.     His  aim  was  to  convince  people  of 

jo6 


SA  TIRE  KII. I. S  h  RROR.  1 07 

error,  by  exaggerating  that  error  so  that  they  could 
see  it.  His  mission  was  to  exaggerate  error,  or  over- 
state it  and  make  it  hideous.  So  Nasby  never  told  a 
truth  in  his  life — in  the  newspapers.  Of  course  he  has 
told  private  truths  at  home — to  his  wife.  Even  the 
date  of  every  letter  Nasby  ever  wrote  began  with  an 
exaggeration.  There  is  no  such  place  as  the  "Con- 
federate cross-roads"  in  Kentucky;  no  "Deacon  Po- 
gram" — all  an  exaggeration! 

Nasby  created  red-nosed  Deacon  Pogram,  placed 
him  in  the  Kentucky  cross-road  saloon,  filled  him 
with  bourbon  whisky,  slavery,  and  secession;  made  him 
abuse  the  "nigger"  and  the  Republican  party,  and 
defend  slavery.  He  made  the  secessionist  odious,  and 
did  more  with  his  satire  to  kill  slavery  and  rebellion 
than  Wendell  Phillips  did  with  his  denunciation. 

To  illustrate  how  Nasby  exploded  the  pro-slavery 
error  of  disfranchising  black  citizens  of  the  republic, 
I  give  this  satirical  incident  as  the  great  satirist  gave  it 
to  me: 

"One  day,"  said  Nasby,  "a  poor  ignorant  white  man 
came  to  the  polls  in  Georgia  to  vote. 

"  'I  wish  you  would  oblige  me  by  voting  this  ticket,' 
said  a  bright  mulatto,  who  was  standing  near  the  polls. 

"'What  kind  of  ticket  is  it?'  asked  the  poor  white 
man. 

"'Why,'  said  the  mulatto,  'you  can  sec  for  yourself.' 

"  'But  I  can't  read.' 
'What!  can't  you  read  the  ballot  you  have  there  in 
your  hand,   which  you  are  about   to  vote?'  exclaimed 
the  colored  man. 

"  'No,'  said  he,  T  can't  read  at  all.' 
'Well,'  said  the  colored  man,  'this  ballot  means  that 


ioS  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

you   are  in  favor  of  the  fifteenth  amendment  giving 
equal  franchise  to  both  white  and  colored  citizens.' 

"  'It  means  to  let  the  nigger  vote,  does  it?' 

"  'Yes,  sir.' 
'Then  I  don't  want  it.     Niggers  dorit  knozv  enough 
to  vote!'  " 

It  was  thus  that  Thackeray  satirized  snobs  and 
snobbery  out  of  England,  and  it  was  this  same  weapon, 
satire,  that  Juvenal  used  to  shame  the  rotten  aristocracy 
of  Rome.  You  can  kill  more  error  with  exaggera- 
tion in  a  week  than  you  can  kill  with  truth  in  a  thou- 
sand years. 

How  long  had  they  been  trying  to  break  up  that 
awful  error  of  knight-errantry  in  Spain.  They  couldn't 
do  it.  They  flung  arguments  at  it;  the  arguments  fell 
to  the  ground,  and  the  error  of  knight-errantry  went 
on.  One  day  Cervantes,  that  great  Spanish  satirist, 
wrote  "Don  Quixote" — a  pure  exaggeration.  No  Don 
Quixote  ever  existed,  no  Sancho  Panza.  It  was  knight- 
errantry  exaggerated,  and  the  people  saw  the  crime 
and  ground  it  under  their  feet. 

Satire  is  used  all  through  the  Bible  to  kill  error. 
Job  used  it,  and  so  did  Elijah  and  our  Saviour.  What 
cutting-  satire  did  our  Saviour  use  to  call  the  attention 
of  the  Jews  to  their  crimes.  Don't  you  remember, 
when  the  Jews  were  washing  their  hands  before  and 
after  every  meal, — little  one-cent  observances,  while 
great  crimes  went  creeping  into  Judea, — Christ  wanted 
to  call  their  attention  to  their  crimes?  He  used  satire. 
With  what  dreadful  satire  he  exclaimed : 

"Ye  are  blind  leaders  of  the  blind.  Ye  strain  at  a 
gnat  and  swallow  a  CAMEL!" 

Our  Saviour  didn't  mean  to  say  these  Jews  could 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  109 

literally  swallow  a  camel — he  knew  they'd  try,  but 
they  couldn't  do  it ! 

If  I  wanted  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the 
humbuggery  of  the  present  high  opera  music  in  the 
churches,  I  would  exaggerate  the  singing  of  a  hymn  a 
little,  and  the  people  would  see  the  absurdity  of  it. 
Thus : 

We  have  everything  high  in  our  church  now.  We 
have  hi-church,  hi-opera,  hi-bonnets,  and  hi-heels,  and 
hi-pocracy.     This  is  the  way  we  sing  our  hymns: 

When  ther  moo-hoon  is  mi-hild-ly  be-heaming 

O'er  the  ca-halm  and  si-hi-lent  se-e-e-e-a  ; 
Its  ra-dyunce  so-hoftly  stre-heam-ing, 
Oh  !  ther-hen;  oh,  ther-hen, 

I  thee-hink  of  thee.  O  Lord  ! 

Hof  thee-hee. 

I  thee-hink, 

I  thee-hink, 

I  thee-hink, 
I  thee-he-he-hehehehe-hink  hof  thee-e-e-e-e  !  O  Lord  ! 

My  friend  Lewis,  our  most  prolific  humorist,  tells  a  lit- 
tle satirical  story  about  the  Foreign  Benevolent  Society 
which  was  established  in  Chicago  by  a  party  of  women 
not  noted  for  attending  to  domestic  matters  at  home. 
They  had  just  organized  the  society  and  came  to  Mr. 
Jonathan  Rigdon,  a  matter-of-fact  business  man,  for  a 
donation  of  a  few  dollars  as  a  foundation  to  commence 
the  benevolent  work  in  Ethiopia. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Rigdon,"  began  Mrs.  Graham,  the  presi- 
dentess,  "it  would  be  so  pleasant  in  after  years  for 
you  to  remember  that  you  gave  this  society  its  first 
dollar  and  its  first  kind  word." 

The    shrewd    old    business    man  slowly    opened  his 


no         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

wallet,  drew  out  a  ten-dollar    bill,  and    as   the    ladies 
smacked  their  lips  and  clapped  their  hands,  he  asked : 

"Is  this  society  organized  to  aid  the  poor  of  foreign 
countries?" 

"Yes — yes — yes!"  they  chorused. 

"And  it  wants  money?" 
\  es — yes. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Rigdon,  as  he  folded  the  bill  in  a 
tempting  shape,  "there  are  twenty  married  women 
here.  If  there  are  fifteen  of  you  who  can  make  oath 
that  you  have  combed  the  children's  hair  this  morning, 
washed  the  dishes,  blackened  the  cook  stove,  and  made 
the  beds,  I'll  donate  ten  dollars." 

"1  have,"  answered  two  of  the  crowd,  and  the  rest 
said  : 

"Why,  now,  Mr.  Rigdon!" 

"If  fifteen  of  you  can  make  oath  that  your  husbands 
are  not  wearing  socks  with  holes  in  the  heels,  the  money 
is  you  s,"  continued  the  wretch. 

"Just  hear  him!"  they  exclaimed,  each  one  looking 
at  the  other. 

"If  ten  of  you  have  boys  without  holes  in  the  knees 
of  their  pants,  this  X  goes  to  the  society,"  said  Rig- 
don. 

"Such  a  man  !"  they  whispered. 

"If  there  are  five  pairs  of  stockings  in  this  room  that  do 
not  need  darning,  I'll  hand  over  the  money,"  he  went  on. 

"Jonathan  Rigdon,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  with  great 
dignity,  as  she  sat  down  to  cover  up  her  stockings, 
"the  rules  of  this  society  declare  that  no  money  shall  be 
contributed  except  by  members;  and  as  you  are  not  a 
member,  I  beg  that  you  will  withdraw  and  let  us  pro- 
ceed with  the  routine  business." 


SA  TIRE  A' ILLS  ERROR.  I  I  i 

SATIRIZING   THE   JURYMAN. 

If  I  want  to  satirize  the  humbuggery  of  our  jury  sys- 
tem, I  exaggerate  a  juryman's  ignorance,  and  then  the 
people  see  it.  For  example:  A  Chicago  lawyer  was 
visiting  New  York  for  the  first  time.  Meeting  a  man 
on  the  crowded  street,  he  said: 

"Here,  my  friend,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  something 
about  this  city." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  said  the  hurrying 
business  man,  with  a  far-away  look. 

"What  street  is  this?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  busy  man,  with  his  mind 
occupied,  and  staring  at  vacancy. 

"What  city  is  it?" 

"Can't  tell;  I  am  busy." 

"Is  it  London  or  New  York?" 

"Don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"You  don't?" 

"No." 

"Well,  by  Heavens,  sir,  you  are  the  very  man  I'm 
looking  for.     I've  been  looking  for  you  for  years." 

"What  do  you  want  me  for?" 

"I  want  you  to  go  to  Chicago  and  sit  on  a  jury." 

I  repeated  this  colloquy  about  the  juryman  to  Bret 
Harte  once,  and  he  asked  if  I  had  ever  heard  his  story 
satirizing  the  early  California  jury.  I  had  heard  it,  but 
not  from  the  lips  of  the  author  of  the  "Luck  of  Roar- 
ing Camp."     So  I  gladly  let  him  tell  it  again. 

"It  was  over  in  the  Mariposa  Gulch  in  '50,"  began 
Mr.  Harte.  'They  had  never  had  a  jury  trial  there. 
If  a  man  stole  a  horse  they  lynched  him.  and  that 
settled  it.     But  the  people,  many  of  whom  came  from 


U2         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Massachusetts,  began  to  tire  of  lynch  law  and  sigh  for 
the  good  old  Puritan  jury  trial  of  the  East.  So  one 
day,  when  Bill  Stevens  had  jumped  a  poor  man's  claim, 
the  Massachusetts  fellows  resolved  to  give  him  a  good 
old-fashioned  jury  trial.  They  took  Bill  into  the  back 
end  of  the  board  post-office,  selected  a  jury,  and  the 
trial  commenced." 

"How  did  it  result?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  dozens  of  witnesses  were  called,  and  finally 
the  jury  retired  to  agree  upon  a  verdict.  When  they 
had  been  out  about  twenty  minutes,  and  about  con- 
cluded that  Bill  was  innocent,  the  boys  outside  came 
banging  at  the  door. 

'What  do  you  fellows  want?'  asked   the   foreman 
through  the  keyhole. 

"  'We  want  to  know  if  you  hain't  about  agreed  on  the 
verdict.  If  you  hain't  you'll  have  to  get  out.  We 
want  this  room  to  lay  out  the  corpse  in.'  ' 

I  once  arranged  a  satire  on  the  examination  of  jury- 
men when  once  impaneled.  It  was  a  real  case,  only  a 
little  exaggerated. 

The  candidate  for  juryman  wore  No.  \2  shoes,  and 
a  No.  6  hat,  and  the  examination  was  like  this: 

"Are  you  opposed  to  capital  punishment?"  asked  the 
lawyer. 

"Oh,  yes;  yes,  sir." 

"If  you  were  on  a  jury,  then,  where  a  man  was  being 
tried  for  his  life,  you  wouldn't  agree  to  a  verdict  to 
hang  him?" 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  I  would.*1 

"Have  you  formed  or  expressed  an  opinion  as  to  the 
guilt  or  innocence  of  the  accused?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  1 13 

"Your  mind,  then,  is  made  up?" 

"Oh,  no ;  no,  it  ain't." 

"Have  you  any  bias  for  or  against  the  prisoner?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  have." 

"Are  you  prejudiced?" 

"Oh,  no ;  not  a  bit." 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  this  case?" 

"1  think  I  have." 

"Would  you  decide,  if  on  the  jury,  according  to  the 
evidence  or  mere  rumor?" 
\  es,  sir. 

"Perhaps  you  don't  understand.  Would  you  decide 
according  to  evidence?" 

"Evidence." 

"If  it  was  in  your  power  to  do  so,  would  you  change 
the  law  of  capital  punishment  or  let  it  stand?" 

"Let  it  stand." 

The  Court :  "Would  you  let  it  stand  or  change 
it?" 

"Change  it." 

"Now,  which  would  you  do?" 

"Don't  know,  sir." 

"Are  you  a  freeholder?" 

"Yes,  sir  ;  oh,  yes." 

"Do  you  own  a  house  and  land,  or  rent?" 

"Neither;  I'm  a  boarder." 

"Have  you  formed  an  opinion?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Have  you  expressed  an  opinion?" 

"Think  1  have." 

The  Court:  "Gentlemen,  I  think  the  juror  is  com- 
petent. It  is  very  evident  he  has  never  formed  or  ex- 
pressed an  opinion  on  the  subject." 


H4         ELI  PERK IX S— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

SATIRIZING   THE   LAWYER. 

About  six  years  ago  the  proprietors  of  the  St.  Jacob's 
Oil  Almanac  wrote  to  me  and  offered  $i  a  line  for  a 
hundred  line  satire  on  the  browbeating  lawyer.  Here 
is  my  dollar-a-line  satire  : 

"I  used  to  have  a  strong  contempt  for  lawyers.  I 
thought  their  long  cross-examinations  were  brainless 
dialogues  for  no  purpose.  But  ever  since  Lawyer  John- 
son had  me  as  a  witness  in  a  wood  case,  I  have  had  a 
better  opinion  of  the  lawyer's  skill.  In  my  direct  testi- 
mony I  had  sworn  truthfully  that  John  Hall  had  cut 
ten  cords  of  wood  in  three  days.  Then  Johnson  sharp- 
ened his  pencil  and  commenced  examining  me. 

"  'Now,  Mr.  Perkins,'  he  began,  'how  much  wood  do 
you  say  was  cut  by  Mr.  Hall?' 

"'Just  ten  cords,  sir,'  I  answered  boldly.  'I  meas- 
ured it.' 

"  'That's  your  impression?' 

"  'Yes,  sir.' 

"  'Well,  we  don't  want  impressions,  sir.  What  we 
want  is  facts  before  this  jury — f-a-c-t-s,  sir;  facts!' 

"  'The  witness  will  please  state  facts  hereafter,'  said 
the  judge,  while  the  crimson  came  to  my  face. 

" 'Now,  sir,' continued  Johnson,  pointing  his  finger 
at  me,  'will  you  swear  that  it  was  more  than  nine 
cords?' 

"'Yes,  sir.     It  was  ten  cords — just ' 

"'There!  never  mind,'  interrupted  Johnson. 

"  'Now,  how  much  less  than  twelve  cords  were 
there?' 

"  'Two  cords,  sir.' 

"  'How  do  you  know  there  were  just  two  uords  less, 


SA  TIRE  KILLS  L  RRi  'A'.  I  I  5 

sir?  Did  you  measure  these  two  cords,  sir?'  asked 
Johnson  savagely. 

'"No,  sir;  I ' 

"  'There,  that  will  do!  You  did  not  measure  it. 
Just  as  I  expected.  All  guess-work.  Now  didn't  you 
swear  a  moment  ago  that  you  measured  this  wood?' 

"'Yes,  sir;  but ' 

"  'Stop,  sir!     The  jury  will  note  this  discrepancy.' 

"  'Now.  sir,'  continued  Johnson  slowly,  as  he  pointed 
his  finger  almost  down  my  throat ;  'now,  sir,  on  your 
oath,  will  you  swear  that  there  were  not  ten  cords  and 
a  half?' 

"  'Yes,  sir,'  I  answered  meekly. 

"'Well,  now,  Mr.  Perkins,  I  demand  a  straight  an- 
swer— a  truthful  answer,  sir.  How  much  wood  was 
there?' 

"  'T-T-Ten  c-c-c-ords,'  I  answered  hesitatingly. 

"  'You  swear  it?' 

"  'I-I-d-d-do.' 

"'Now,'  continued  Johnson,  as  he  smiled  satirically, 
'do  you  know  the  penalty  of  perjury,  sir?' 

"'Yes,  sir;  I  think ' 

"  'On  your  oath,  on  your  s-o-l-e-m-n  oath,  with  no 
evasion,  are  you  willing  to  perjure  yourself  by  solemnly 
swearing  that  there  were  more  than  nine  cords  of  wood?' 

"  'Yes,  sir;  I ' 

"'Aha!  Yes,  sir.  You  arc  willing  to  perjure  your- 
self, then?  Just  as  I  thought'  (turning  to  the  judge); 
'you  see,  your  Honor,  that  this  witness  is  prevaricating. 
He  is  not  willing  to  swear  that  there  were  more  than 
nine  cords  of  wood.  It  is  infamous,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury,  such  testimony  as  this.'  The  jury  nodded  assent 
and  smiled  sarcastically  at  me. 


1 16  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

'Now,'  said  Johnson,  'I   will  ask  this  perjured  wit- 
ness just  one  more  question.' 

'I   ask  you,  sir — do  you  know — do  you  realize,  sir, 
what  an  awful — a-w-f-u-1  thing  it  is  to  tell  a  lie?' 
'Yes,  sir,'  I  said,  my  voice  trembling. 
"  'And,  knowing  this,  you  swear  on  your  solemn  oath 
that  there  were  about  nine  cords  of  wood?' 

"  'No,  sir;  I  don't  do  anything  of ' 

'Hold  on,  sir!     Now,  how  do  you  know  there  were 
just  nine  cords?' 

"  'I  don't  know  any  such  thing,  sir!     I ' 

"'Aha!  you  don't  know  then?  Just  as  I  expected. 
And  yet  you  swore  you  did  know.  Swore  you  meas- 
ured it.  Infamous  !  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  what  shall 
we  do  with  this  perjurer?' 

"  'But  I ' 

"  'Not  a  word,  sir — hush!  This  jury  shall  not  be  in- 
sulted by  a  perjurer! 

"  'Call  the  next  witness!'  " 

SATIRE   ON   THE    LAW. 

I  have  given  a  satire  on  the  ignorant  juror,  a  satire 
on  the  browbeating  lawyer,  and  I  now  follow  them 
with  a  satire  on  our  curious  laws: 

I  find  that  all  law  is  based  on  precedents.  Two  or 
three  precedents  establish  a  certain  law.  There  is  no 
use  of  studying  Blackstone  any  more.  No  use  of 
weighing  the  question  of  justice.  Precedents  are  what 
rule  the  Court.  This  principle  established,  I  am  a  full- 
fledged  lawyer  now.  I  am  E.  Perkins,  Esq.,  Attorney- 
at-Law,  ready  to  practise  even  in  the  Supreme  Court 
at  Washington. 

Whenever  a  client  comes  to  me  and  tells  me  he  has 
committed  a  great  crime,  I  read  up  the  precedents  and 


SA  riKi:  kills  ERROR.  I 1 7 

tell  him  what  will  become  of  him  if  he  don't  run 
away. 

In  cases  where  clients  contemplate  great  crimes,  I 
tell  them  beforehand  what  will  be  the  penalty  if  they 
don't  buy  a  juryman. 

Yesterday  a  man  came  to  me  and  said  he  wanted  to 
knock  Henry  Watterson's  teeth  down  his  thro.it. 
"What  will  be  the  penalty,  Mr.  Perkins?'"  he  asked. 

"Are  they  false  teeth  or  real  teeth?"   I  inquired. 

"False,  I  think,  sir." 

"Then,  don't  do  it,  sir.  False  teeth  are  personal 
property;  but  if  the)'  are  real,  knock  away." 

These  are  the  precedents: 

I.  A  fellow  on  Third  Avenue  borrowed  a  set  of  false 
teeth  from  the  show  case  of  a  dentist,  and  he  was  sent 
to  Sing  Sing  for  four  years. 

II.  Another  fellow  knocked  a  man's  real  teeth  down 
his  throat,  and  Judge  Barnard  let  him  off  with  a  repri- 
mand ! 

The  next  day  Grover  Cleveland  came  to  me  and 
wanted  to  knock  out  Mr.  Chas.  A.  Dana's  eye,  because 
Mr.  Dana  wrote  such  long  editorials. 

"Are  they  real  eyes  or  glass  eyes,  Mr.  Cleveland?"  I 
asked. 

"One  looks  like  glass,  the  other  is  undoubtedly  real," 
said  the  ex-President. 

"Ah,"  I  said,  "the  glass  eye  is  personal  property  and 
the  real  eye  is  a  part  of  the  person.  Let's  see,  the 
precedents  for  taking  real  property  are  as  follows: 

I.  Making  off  with  a  man's  glass  eye — two  years  in  Sing  Sing. 

II.  Tearing  out  a  man's  real  eye — a  fine  of  five  dollars. 

III.  Stealing  a  man's  crutch — two  years'  imprisonment. 

IV.  Breaking  a  man's  leg — a  fine  of  ten  dollars  or  reprimand 
from  the  judge. 


Ii8  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

"Mr.  Cleveland,"  I  said,  "you  must  be  careful  about 
disturbing  Mr.  Dana's  glass  eye,  but  you  can  scratch 
out  that  real  eye  with  impunity.  Fee  for  professional 
advice,  please,  twenty-five  dollars." 

As  the  ex-President  handed  me  the  change,  I  re- 
marked gratis : 

"Damage  to  a  man's  property — the  penitentiary." 

"Damage  to  a  man's  body,  or  destruction  of  a  man's 
life — acquittal,  or  a  recommendation  to  mercy." 

SATIRE   ON   SOCIETY. 

My  earlier  writings,  in  "  Saratoga  in  1901,"  are  usually 
satires.  I  have  always  despised  the  brainless  dude  who 
lived  on  his  father's  reputation  and  money  till  he  could 
marry  a  rich  girl  and  board  with  her  mother.  Worthy 
girls  often  marry  these  aimless  dudes,  and,  after  a  fash- 
ionable wedding,  spend  a  lifetime  mourning  because 
they  did  not  marry  a  brave,  strong  working-fellow,  who 
would  have  felt  rich  in  their  affections,  and  who,  with 
a  little  help  from  his  father-in-law,  would  have  hewed 
his  way  to  wealth  and  position. 

RULES   FOR    MAKING   HEARTLESS   DUDES. 

These  are  the  ten  rules  I  wrote  showing  how  the 
brainless  son  of  a  rich  father  can  become  a  dude : 

First.— If  your  father  is  rich  and  holds  a  high  social 
position,  don't  go  to  school  yourself,  take  lectures  in  the 
scientific  course  at  Harvard  one  year  to  get  the  dude 
dialect,  and  learn  to  wear  peaked-toed  shoes. 

Second. — When  you  return  home  with  the  Harvard 
stamp,  if  you  haven't  sense  enough  to  make  a  living, 
pay  your  addresses  to  some  rich  girl— and  marry  her,  if 
you  can. 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  119 

Third. — Go  home  and  live  with  her  father,  and  mag- 
nanimously spend  her  money.  Keep  up  your  flirtations 
around  town  just  the  same.  Gamble  a  little,  and  al- 
ways dine  at  the  clubs. 

Fourth. — After  your  wife  has  nursed  you  through  a 
spell  of  sickness,  and  she  looks  languid  and  worn  with 
anxiety,  tell  her,  like  a  high-toned  gentleman,  that  she 
has  grown  plain  looking — then  scold  her  a  little  and 
make  love  to  her  maid. 

Fifth.- — If  your  weary  wife  objects,  I'd  insult  her — 
tell  her  you  won't  be  tyrannized  over.  Then  come 
home  drunk  once  or  twice  a  week  and  empty  the  coal 
scuttle  into  the  piano,  and  pour  the  kerosene  lamp  over 
her  Saratoga  trunk  and  into  baby's  cradle.  When  she 
cries,  I'd  twit  her  about  the  high  (hie)  social  position  of 
your  own  (hie)  family. 

Sixth. — If,  weary  and  sick  and  heartbroken,  she  finally 
asks  for  a  separation,  I'd  blacken  her  character,  deny 
the  paternity  of  my  own  children,  get  a  divorce  my- 
self. Then  by  wise  American  law  you  can  keep  all  her 
money,  and  while  she  goes  back  in  sorrow  to  her  father. 
you  can  magnanimously  peddle  out  to  her  a  small 
dowry  from  her  own  estate. 

Seventh. —  If  she  asks  you — audaciously  asks  you — 
for  any  of  her  own  money,  tell  her  to  go  to  the  dev- 
devil  (the  very  one  she  has  come  to). 

Kighth. — Now  I'd  keep  a  mistress  and  a  poodle  dvj^. 
and  ride  up  to  the  park  with  them  in  a  gilded  landau- 
let  every  afternoon.  While  this  miserable,  misguided 
woman  will  be  trodden  in  the  dust  by  society,  you  can 
attain  to  the  heights  of  modern  chivalry  by  leading  at 
the  charity  balls  in  New  York,  playing  polo  at  New- 
port, and  raising  pug  dogs  for  the  dog  show. 


120         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Ninth. — After  you  have  used  up  your  wife's  last 
money  in  dissipation,  and  brought  your  father's  gray 
hairs  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave,  I'd  get  the  delirium 
tremens  and  shoot  myself.  This  will  create  a  sensation 
in  the  newspapers,  and  cause  every  other  rich  dude  to 
call  you  high-toned  and  chivalrous. 

Tenth. — Then  that  poor  angel  wife,  crushed  in  spirit, 
tried  in  the  crucible  of  adversity,  and  purified  by  the 
beautiful  "do-unto-others"  of  the  Christ-child,  will  go 
into  mourning,  and  build,  with  her  last  money,  a  monu- 
ment to  the  memory  of  the  man  who  crushed  her  bleed- 
ing heart. 

Here  is  a  little  satire  on  the  poor  dude: 
There  are  three  kinds  of  dudes  in  New  York.  There 
is  the  inanimate  rich  dude,  who  don't  want  to  do  any- 
thing on  earth  but  exhibit  himself.  Then  there  is  the- 
poor  dude,  who  dresses  like  the  rich  dude,  and  who 
wants  to  marry  a  rich  girl  and  board  with  her  mother; 
and,  lastly,  there  is  the  wicked  clubhouse  dude,  who 
wastes  his  rich  father's  money,  and  then  marries  four 
or  five  rich  women,  kills  them  off,  and   lives  off  their 

estates. 

THE   POOR   DUDE. 

The  poor  dude  wears  the  same  one-barreled  eye-glass 
that  the  rich  dude  does.  He  wears  apparently  the  same 
high  collar,  the  same  peaked-toed  shoes,  with  drab  tops, 
the  same  English  top-coat,  and  the  same  embroidered 
kids ;  but  when  you  examine  them  closely  they  all  prove 
to  be  an  inferior  imitation,  made  on  Sixth  Avenue. 
The  poor  dude  don't  have  rooms  at  Delmonico's.  He 
rents  a  hall  bedroom  and  eats  where  he  is  invited.  He 
goes  to  the  opera  on   one-dollar-stand-up  tickets,  and 


SA  TIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  i  2  i 

then  goes  and  visits  some  rich  young  lady  who  is  sit- 
ting in  a  twenty  dollar  box.  They  always  go  to  parties 
as  escorts,  the  poor  dudes  do,  and  let  sonic  rich  young 
lady  find  the  carriage. 

I  knew  a  poor  New  York  dude  whose  pet  theory  for 
years  has  been  to  marry  a  rich  orphan  girl  with  a  bad 
cough  —with  the  consumption.  One  day  he  came  into 
my  room  almost  heartbroken. 

"My  pet  theory  is  exploded,  Eli,"  he  said.  "I  am 
discouraged.      I  want  to  die." 

Then  tin'  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

"What  is  it,  Charley?  Oh,  what  has  happened?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh-o-o-o,  Eli,"  he  sobbed,  and  then  he  broke  down. 

When  his  feelings  recovered  he  took  my  hand  trem- 
blingly in  his  and  told  me  all  about  it: 

'The  other  day,"  he  sobbed,  "I  met  a  very  rich 
young  lady— the  rich  Miss  Astor,  sister  of  Jack  Astor 
of  Fifth  Avenue.  She  was  very  wealthy — wore  dia- 
monds and  laces — had  government  bonds,  but  alas! 
she  didn't  have  any  cough  to  go  with  them.  She  had 
oceans  of  money  but  no  sign  of  a  cough — no  quick- 
consumption — just  my  luck!" 

And  then  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"What  eKe.  Eugene?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  yesterday,  Eli,  I  met  a  beautiful  young  lady 
from  Chicago.  She  was  frail  and  delicate;  had  just  the 
cough  I  wanted — a  low,  hacking,  musical  cough.  It  was 
just  sweet  music  to  listen  to  that  girl's  cough.  I  took 
her  jeweled  hand  in  mine  and  asked  her  to  be  my  bride ; 
but,  alas  !  in  a  fatal  moment  I  learned  that  she  hadn't  any 
money  to  go  with  her  cough,  and  I  had  to  give  her  up. 
I  lost  her.     Oh,  I  lost  her!" 


122  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

And  then  the  hot,  scalding  tears  trickled  through  his 
fingers  and  rolled  down  on  his  patent-leather  boots. 

SAD   REFLECTIONS. 

A  kind  old  father-in-law  on  Madison  Avenue,  who  is 
supporting  four  or  five  poor  dudes  as  sons-in-law,  Avent 
down  to  see  Barnum's  Fejee  cannibals. 

"Why  are  they  called  cannibals?"  he  asked  of  Mr. 
Barnum. 

"Because  they  live  off  of  other  people,"  replied  the 
great  showman. 

"Oh,  I  see!"  replied  the  unhappy  father-in-law. 
"Alas!  my  four  dude  sons-in-law  are  cannibals,  too — 
they  live  off  me !" 

The  genial  Hugh  J.  Hastings  despised  the  snobbish 
moneyed  aristocracy  of  New  York.  "They  are  cads," 
he  said  one  day ;  "their  fathers  were  tailors,  oyster  open- 
ers, snuffmakers,  and  muskrat-skin  peddlers.  I  want 
you  to  write  a  strong  article,  and  stand  up  to  the  idea 
that  'worth  makes  the  man  and  want  of  it  the  fellow.'  ' 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  will  write  a  simple  satire  on  the 
growth  of  aristocracy;"  and  I  wrote  this  satirical 

STORY   OF    EZRA   GREEN,   JR. 

His  name  was  Ezra  Green,  Jr.  He  was  a  high-toned 
New  York  Englishman,  and  he  turned  and  cast  upon 
me  an  imperial  look,  as  he  said  in  scorn  : 

"I  disdain  a  Yankee,"  and  then  he  frowned  at  me 
through  a  single  eye-glass. 

I  thought  this  was  queer  when  I  remembered  that 
his  old  father  and  mother  still  live  on  Second  Avenue 
— over  there  where  the  Fifth  Avenue  fellows  go  to  flirt 
with  the  girls  Sunday  afternoons. 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  1 23 

Alas!  Ezra  was  once-  a  tailor  himself  on  Avenue  II. 
Time  passed,  and  this  respectable  Second  Avenue  tailor 
grew  to  be  a 


MERCHANT 

TAILOR. 


More  time  went  on.  Providence  prospered  Ezra, 
and  his  coats  fitted  well.  He  spent  much  of  his  feeble 
income  in  improved  signs.  One  day  I  saw  a  flashy 
painter  paint  these  letters  over  his  door: 


•  Ezra  L.  Gkkkn,  '. 

;     MERCHANT  Tailur  and  IMPORTER,    j 

More  time  skipped  along,  the  tailor  moved  up  town, 
and  I  saw  Ezra  raise  the  imperial  arms  of  England  and 
France  on  each  end  of  his  sign.  Then  it  read,  in  bright 
gilt  letters: 

:  E.  Livingstone  Gkeen, 

!  PA  It  IS.       IMPORTER.  LONDON.  \ 

Alas!  "the  poor  tailor"  became  smaller  and  smaller, 
until  it  faded  entirely  away — and  still  Ezra  made 
clothes. 

One  day  a  retired  Broadway  merchant  saw  the  im- 
posing sign,  and,  stepping  in,  innocently  asked  Ezra 
the  price  of  "exchange  on  London." 

"The  price  of  the  which?"  inquired  Ezra,  sticking  his 
shears  behind  his  ears. 


124  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OP  WIT. 

"Oh!   I  am  mistaken.     You  do  not  do  bank  business." 

Ezra  said  he  made  clothes  for  a  good  many  bankers, 
but  the  Broadway  merchant  slid  away  as  if  ashamed  of 
his  mistake. 

Fortune  smiled  upon  Ezra,  affluence  gilded  his  des- 
tiny, and  his  clothes  wore  well.  He  rode  in  a  liveried 
landaulet,  traveled  in  foreign  climes,  reveled  with  the 
nobility  in  palaces  without  expending  a  cent  out- 
side for  patching  his  pants.  His  career  was  happy 
and  glorious  abroad,  and  his  breeches  never  ripped 
at  home. 

And  now  Ezra,  Jr.,  has  become  a  great  swell.  He  is 
the  Dude  of  Dudes.  He  has  a  corner  house  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  gives  dinners  to  the  400,  and  dances  at  the 
Patriarchs'  Ball.  He  is  president  of  the  Polo  Club, 
drives  a  tandem  team  at  Newport,  plays  baccarat,  leads 
the  coaching  parade,  and  every  night  he  adorns  a  front 
proscenium  box  at  the  opera.  He  despises  labor  so 
much  that  when  his  coat  loses  a  button  he  goes  into 
the  clothes  press  where  no  mortal  eye  can  see  him  and 
— sews  it  on.  He  would  not  even  speak  to  an  ignoble 
tailor. 

By  and  by  the  aristocratic  children  of  E.  Livingstone 
Green  will  put  up  a  bronze  statue  of  the  evoluted  tailor 
in  the  public  park,  and  it  will  be  next  to  a  Mr.  Dodge 
who  sold  tin  and — well,  we  do  not  remember  what  else. 


In  satirizing  social  matters,  the  satirical  proposal  by 
the  fashionable  worldly  dude  is  quite  apropos: 

The  scene  is  laid  at  Tuxedo ;  the  youth  a  blast  mem- 
ber of  the  Knickerbocker  Club: 

Her  eyes  shone  a  beautiful,  joyous  light  when  he 
leaned  forward  and  said : 


SATIRE  KILLS  l-.RROR.  125 

"Julia,  I  have  something  confidential  to  tell  you." 
"What    is  it,  Augustus?"   she  asked,  in  a  low,  silvery 
voice   -a  kind  of  German  silvery  voice. 

"Well,  Julia,  to  he  frank  with  you,  I  think  that 
under  some  circumstances  I  might  love  you.  Now,  do 
you  love  me?" 

"Yes,  Augustus,  I  do  love  you;  you  know  I  do,"  and 
then  she  flung  her  alabaster  arms  around  his  neck. 

"I  am  very  glad,  Julia,"  he  said,  "  for  I  like  to  be 
loved." 

"  Well,  Augustus?" 

Hut  Augustus  never  said  another  word.  Fashion- 
able fellows  never  say  more  than  that  nowadays. 

A  similar  proposal  on  the  part  of  Miss  Warren,  a 
Boston  young  lady,  occurred  at  Saratoga.  The  Boston 
girl  had  been  flirting  for  hours  on  the  lovers'  balcony 
of  the  States  with  Mr.  Jack  Astor  of  New  York.  They 
had  talked  about  love  in  all  its  phases,  but  Mr.  Astor 
was  slow  to  take  the  hint.  She  could  not  force  him 
up  to  the  proposing  point.  Finally  I  saw  Miss  Warren 
look  lovingly  up  into  Mr.  Astor's  eyes  and  pathetically 
remark : 

"Love — oh,  love  is  sweet,  Mr.  Astor! — my  dear  Mr. 
Astor;  but  nobody  loves  me — nobody " 

"Yes,  Miss  Warren,  God  loves  you;  and — your 
mother  loves  you." 

"Mr.  Astor,  let's  go  in." 

And  five  minutes  afterward  Miss  \Yarren  was  trying 
the  drawing-out  dodge  on  another  poor,  innocent,  unsus- 
pecting fellow. 

A  day  or  two  after  the  dude  proposal  I  nut 
Julia  at  a  party.  She  seemed  quite  indignant  at  some- 
thing. 


126  ELI   PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF   WIT. 

"Do  you  know?"  she  said,  "that  a  married  man 
actually  tried  to  flirt  with  me  at  Tuxedo?" 

"He  did?  that  was  dreadful;  a  married  man  flirting! 
What  did  you  say  to  him?" 

"I  told  him  his  wife  must  have  been  a  Third  Avenue 
chump  to  marry  a  man  who  couldn't  flirt  any  better 
than  he  could.     Oh,  I  crushed  him!" 

How  sweet  it  is  to  read  the  old-fashioned  proposal 
after  these  satires!     Proposals  like  this: 

"May  I  call  you  Paula?"  he  asked  modestly. 

"Yes,"  she  said  faintly. 

"Dear  Paula;  may  I  call  you  that?" 

"I  suppose  so." 

"Do  you  know  I  love  you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  shall  I  love  you  always?" 

"If  you  wish  to." 

"And  will  you  love  me?" 

Paula  did  not  reply. 

"Will  you,  Paula?"  he  repeated. 

"You  may  love  me,"  she  said  again. 

"But  don't  you  love  me  in  return?" 

"I  love  you  to  love  me." 

"Won't  you  say  anything  more  explicit?" 

"I  would  rather  not." 

They  were  married  in  the  spring. 

The  shortest  courtship  I  ever  heard  of  occurred  out 
in  Ohio. 

"Widder  Jenkins,"  said  old  farmer  Dobson  of  Windy 
Hill,  as  he  hustled  into  the  widow's  house  one  morn, 
ing,  "I  am  a  man  of  business.  I  am  worth  $10,800,  and 
want  you  for  a  wife.   I  give  you  three  minutes  to  answer." 

"I  don't  want  ten  seconds,  old  man,"  she  replied,  as 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  I  27 

she  shook  out  the  dishcloth.  "I'm  a  woman  of  busi- 
ness, worth  $16,000,  and  I  wouldn't  marry  you  if  you 
wore  the  last  man  on  earth!  I  give  you  a  minute  and 
a  half  to  git." 

The  most  dignified  satire  I  ever  wrote  was  a  satire 
on  the  Old  World  ruins,  delivered  in  a  lecture  before 
Princeton  College.  I  give  it  as  reported  in  the 
Princetonian: 

"My  Uncle  Consider,"  said  Mr.  Perkins,  "went  to  see 
the  Prince  of  Wales  while  he  was  here.  They  had  a 
long  talk,  the  Prince  and  Consider  did. 

"  'How  do  you  like  our  country — America?'  asked 
my  uncle,  as  he  held  the  Prince's  trembling  hand  in  his. 

"  Tt  is  great,  Mr.  Perkins — g-r-e-a-t.  Europe,  with  her 
two  thousand  years  of  civilization,  only  excels  you  in 
one  thing.' 

"  'What  is  that,  your  Highness?' 

"'Alas!  in  her  magnificent  ruins,  Mr.  Perkins ' 

'*  'But,  your  Worshipful,  we  have  a  remedy  for  that. 
You  have  old  ruins  in  Germany  and  England,  but  we 
build  our  houses  very  shabbily,  and  we  shall  soon  have 
ruins — s-p-1-e-n  d-i-d  young  ruins,  here,  too.  Look  at 
Washington  monument.*  It  looks  like  a  y-o-u-n-g 
r-u-i-n  now.  [Laughter.]  Go  to  Mount  Vernon  and 
see  the  crumbling  tomb  of  the  Father  of  our  Country. 
Go  to  Princeton  and  see  the  sidewalks.'  [Loud  laugh- 
ter.] 

"  'Yes,  Mr.  Perkins,  I  see  the  enterprise  of  you 
Americans  on  the  ruin  question,  but  you  cannot  quite 

*  Washington's  monument  was  at  this  time  half  built.  It  had  re- 
mained looking  like  a  young  ruin  for  twenty-five  years.  It  has  since 
been  finished.  —  MELVILLE  D.    I.andon. 


128         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

compete  with  us  yet.  You  have  the  crumbling  tomb 
of  the  Father  of  your  Country,  but  you  have  no  Kenil- 
worth;  you  have  Washington  monument,  but  you 
have  no  Pantheon,  no  Coliseum,  no  ruined  Senate  Hall, 
no ' 

"'But  your  Worshipful  has  not  seen  all  our  ruined 
halls.  You  have  not  seen  our  magnificent  ruins  of 
Tammany  Hall  and  Mayor  Hall.  They  are  beautiful 
to  behold.     They  are  the  reward  of  virtue.' 

'Yes,'  continued  my  uncle  thoughtfully,  'we  have 
other  and  grander  ruins  than  all  of  these.  We  have 
the  ruins  of  a  standing  army;  we  have  the  ruins  of 
aristocracy  and  caste;  we  have  the  ruins  of  nullification 
and  secession ;  and  we  have  that  still  grander  ruin,  the 
ruin  of  human  slavery.  [Applause.]  We  have  the 
ruins  of  that  old  feudal  law  of  entail  and  primogeni- 
ture; and  we  have  the  ruins  of  that  stupendous  fallacy 
of  you  Old  World  despots,  the  divine  right  of  kings!' 

"  'Yes,  Mr.  Perkins,'  interrupted  the  Prince,  as  he 
laid  his  hands  on  my  uncle's  shoulders  and  looked  him 
straight  in  the  face,  'and  on  these  ruins  you  have 
reared  your  magnificent  civilization.  On  these  ruins 
you  have  reared  a  nation  whose  sublime  progress 
makes  Europe  look  like  a  pigmy! 

"  'And  this,'  he  continued,  'is  American  Democracy. 
Alas!'  he  continued  to  mourn,  'if  we  had  more  of  your 
republican  ruins,  more  ruins  of  slavery  and  despo- 
tism, more  ruins  of  aristocracy  in  place  of  our  ruined 
towers  and  pyramids,  cathedrals  and  coliseums,  we 
would  be  better  off!'  "     [Applause.] 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  129 

POLITICAL   SATIRES. 

Is  satire  a  strong  weapon? 

It  is  the  strongest  weapon  known;  but  it  must  be 
addressed  to  an  intelligent  audience.  It  has  to  be 
double  discounted.  The  most  cruel  satire  is  to  call  a 
right  wrong  and  a  wrong  right.  The  reader  feels  out- 
raged. His  prejudices  all  disappear  and  his  superior 
judgment  rises  up  and  exclaims,  with  the  intense  wrath 
of  Greeley,  when  he  said : 

"You  lie — you  villain;  you  lie!" 

The  most  cutting  piece  of  political  satire  I  ever  wrote 
was  a  letter  addressed  to  YV.  H.  Barnum,  the  chairman 
of  the  Democratic  Committee  in  1888,  giving  very  satiri- 
cal reasons  for  deserting  Harrison  and  coming  out  for 
Cleveland.  The  heading  deceived  many  Democratic 
editors,  who  published  it,  and  followed  the  next  day 
with  an  apology  to  their  Democratic  readers.  The 
theory  of  the  satire  was  to  exaggerate  Cleveland's  mild 
vices  and  short  comings  into  sweet  angelic  virtues  and 
praise  them,  and  to  exaggerate  Harrison's  virtues  and 
logical  political  beliefs  into  shocking  vices  and  condemn 
them.  It  was  written  in  the  heat  of  the  campaign 
and  all  devices  are  fair  in  love  and  politics.  Friend 
and  foe  must  always  admit  that  Cleveland  made  an 
honest  president,  and  his  administration  was  as  free 
from  scandal  as  the  administrations  of  Hayes  or 
Harrison. 

The  satirical  letter  ran  like  this: 


130       eli  perkins-thirty  years  of  wit. 

"Harrison  Deserted  Again! 

"IV.  H.  Barman,  Chairman  Democratic  Committee  : 

"DEAR  Sir:  Below  I  give  my  reasons  for  deserting 
Harrison  and  protection  and  coming  out  for  your  noble 
Grover  Cleveland  and  free  trade. 

"I  am  against  Harrison  because  he  is  an  honest 
Christian ;  because  he  is  for  temperance,  and  for 
twenty  years  has  been  a  Christian  vestryman,  and 
twice  a  day  bows  down  in  family  prayer. 

"I  am  against  Harrison  because  he  drew  his  sword 
for  the  republic  in  1861,  while  noble  Grover  Cleveland 
bravely  stayed  at  home  and  hired  a  substitute,  and 
paid  him  with  the  money  earned  by  hanging  criminals. 
I  am  down  on  Harrison  because  he  did  not  desert 
the  nation,  as  did  the  noble  Democratic  party,  with 
secession  in  the  Senate,  theft  in  the  War  Department, 
bankruptcy  in  the  Treasury,  and  treason  in  the  field. 

"I  am  a  Democrat. 

"I  am  against  Harrison  and  the  Republican  party  be- 
cause they  freed  4,000,000  slaves  in  1863,  because  they 
made  them  citizens  and  gave  them  the  right  to  vote 
for  the  nation  for  which  they  fought,  and  because,  to- 
day, if  Harrison  were  President,  he'd  honestly  count 
these  freedmen's  votes  and  stop  our  noble  Grover  from 
holding  by  fraud  the  Presidential  office. 

"I  am  a  Democrat. 

"I  am  opposed  to  Harrison  and  protection  because 
the  English  aristocracy  hate  them  worse  than  they 
hate  an  Irish  patriot,  and  because  if  Harrison  becomes 
our  President  he'll  watch  the  tariff  and  see  that  it 
protects  our  workingmen. 

"I  am  a  Democrat. 


S.l  TIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  1 3 « 

"I  am  down  on  the  Republican  party  for  saving  the 
republic  when  seventeen  Democratic  States  trod  down 
our  flag;  down  on  the  Republican  party  for  slaughter- 
ing 100,000  free  trade  rebel  Democrats,  and  down  on 
Lincoln,  Grant,  and  Garfield — yes,  and  Logan,  Hale, 
and  Conkling — for  making  England  give  up  Mason  and 
Slidell,  spit  on  that  rebel  rag,  and  reverently  cheer  the 
Stars  and  Stripes. 

"I  am  a  Democrat. 

"I  am  down  on  Harrison  because,  if  once  made 
President,  he'll  surely  kill  Mills's  English  tariff  bill  for 
lowering  the  wages  of  our  Northern  workingmen ; 
down  on  him  because  he  says  he'll  keep  the  Chinese 
out  and  hold  back  ignorant  paupers  coming  in  to  oust 
our  high-priced  workmen  of  the  North. 

"I'm  down  on  Harrison  because  he'll  keep  such  cop- 
perheads as  Thurman,  Vallandigham,  and  Daniel  Voor- 
hees  out:  because  I  love  those  noble  Democrats  who, 
when  we  were  soldiering,  cursed  old  Abe  Lincoln  and 
stabbed  us  in  the  back. 

"I  am  a  Democrat. 

"I  am  for  Cleveland  and  free  trade  because  all  our 
ex-secessionists  are  for  them ;  because  with  free  trade 
they  can  grind  down  the  poor  mechanic  of  the  North 
and  pay  him  back  for  stamping  on  the  rebel  flag. 

"I  am  for  Cleveland  because  the  British  minister 
says  he  favors  building  up  great  English  industries  by 
breaking  down  American  manufacturers;  because  he 
wants  the  Yankee  workmen  to  live  on  English  paw 
and  because  he  wants  the  free  trade  South  to  ship 
direct  from  England  and  kill  our  Yankee  workmen  in 
the  North. 

"I   am   for  Cleveland  and  free  trade  because  every 


I32  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OE  WIT. 

rebel    who   shot    into   our   flag   is   for    them.     I   am   a 
Democrat  for  tree  trade  and  against  the  Yankee   work- 
ingman    because    Jeff    Davis    is,   and    Beauregard    and 
every  old  slave  driver  of  the  South. 
"I  am  a  Democrat. 

"Yes,  I'm  down  on  Harrison  because  he  wants  every 
Union-loving  freedman  in  the  South  to  cast  his  honest 
vote,  when  he  knows  so  well  an  honest  count  will 
break  the  Democratic  South  and  stop  another  presi- 
dent by  fraud. 

"Yours  truly, 

"Eli  Perkins. 
"Harrison  Deserter,  No.  32." 

When  we  consider  how  Harrison  has  stood  for  the 
Election  Bill,  which  is  really  nothing  more  or  less 
than  Cleveland's  "Ballot  Reform,"  and  how  he  has 
stood  for  a  protective  tariff,  my  satire  sounds  to  me 
now  almost  prophetic. 

The  reader  will  appreciate  the  power  of  satire  when 
I  say  that  the  above  seventy  lines  were  copied  into 
thousands  of  newspapers,  and  were  read  by  probably 
10,000,000  people  within  a  week.  It  brought  back 
bushels  of  letters  pro  and  con  to  the  writer,  and  among 
them  letters  from  so  great  a  man  as  James  G.  Blaine, 
and  the  two  Presidential  candidates,  Cleveland  and  Har- 
rison.    President  Harrison's  letter  is  given  below: 

"Indianapolis,  November  26,  1888. 
"674  North  Delaware  Street. 
"Eli  Perkins,  Esq.,  Nciv  York  : 

"My  Dear  Sir:  Please  accept  my  very  sincere 
thanks,  not  only  for  your  friendly  words  but  also  for 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  1 33 

your  zealous  and  effective  work  during  the  campaign. 
I  have  not  until  now  been  able  to  make  my  acknow- 
ledgment to  you. 

"Very  truly  yours, 

"Benjamin  Harrison." 

During  the  previous  Blaine  and  Hancock  campaign, 
I  wrote  my  satirical  reasons  for  abandoning  Blaine  and 
indorsing  Hancock,  which  brought  this  letter  from  the 
Plumed  Knight : 


•t>" 


"Senate  Chamber,  Washington. 
"Ah'  Dear  SIR:  Words  of  'truth'  are  not  rare  with 
you, — but  'truth  and  soberness'  combined  have  not 
been  your  peculiar  characteristic, — but  your  last  effort 
in  that  line  is  an  'amazing  hit'  with  me,  for  which  I 
tender  my  sincere  and  grateful  thanks. 

"You  can  render  great  aid,  and  I  shall  cordially 
acknowledge  and  reciprocate  both  good  intentions  and 
good  works. 

"Hastily,  Yours  sincerely, 

"J.  G.  Blaine. 
"Eli  Perkins." 


The  following  is  a  facsimile  of  Mr.  Blaine's  letter 


134         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

SENATE  CHAMBER 

WASHINGTON 


Jktij     £\J^ 


SATIRE  KILLS  LRROK. 


135 


In  1880  I  was  called  upon  by  Governor  Jewell, 
Chairman  of  the  Republican  National  Committee,  to 
make  thirty-six  speeches  in  Indiana.  I  was  coupled 
with  Judge  Albion  W.  Tourgec,  who  had  just  made  a 
national  reputation  as  the  author  of  "The  Fool's 
Errand."  My  speeches  were  entirely  satirical.  I 
append  a  few  lines  of  my  Fort  Wayne  speech,  as 
reported  by  the  Fort  Wayne  Gazette: 

"What  will  the  South  give  the  North  if  they  elect  a 
president  and  become  the  nation? 


I36         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"All  we  know  is  what  they  did  give  us  when  they 
had  the  power.  Last  year  the  Democratic  party  had 
the  upper  and  lower  house.  What  did  they  give  the 
great  North.  Who  did  they  give  the  chairmanship  of 
the  great  committee  on  "finance"  to?  Did  they  give 
it  to  the  great  State  of  New  York?  No,  they  gave  it 
to  the  little  rebel  State  of  Delaware.  They  gave  it  to 
Bayard,  who  made  a  speech  for  secession. 

"Who  did  they  give  the  next  great  committeeship 
to — the  committeeship  of  appropriations?  Did  they 
give  it  to  the  great  State  of  Indiana?  No,  they  gave 
it  to  the  rebel  General  Atkins,  of  Tennessee. 

"What  did  they  give  to  the  great   State  of  Indiana? 
What  did  they  give  to  your  splendid  Daniel  Voorhees— 
your  Tall  Sycamore  of  the  Wabash? 

"I  will  tell  you.  They  made  him  chairman  of  the 
committee  on  seeds — library  and  seeds!  [Laughter.] 
Now  picture  to  yourselves,  Indianians,  your  splendid 
Daniel  Voorhees  as  he  goes  to  the  Agricultural 
Department.  He  says,  I  will  have  a  paper  of  holly- 
hock seeds  for  Terre  Haute.  [Laughter.]  I  will  have 
turnip  seeds  for  Evansville.  [Laughter.]  I  will  have 
them !     I  am  the   King  of  Seeds."     [Loud  laughter.] 

Ridicule  can  be  used  in  politics  when  the  people  are 
tired  of  reading  serious  arguments.  During  the  last 
election  the  people  got  so  tired  of  tariff  discussions 
that  the  very  mention  of  the  word  tariff  would  cause  a 
man  to  change  his  seat  in  the  cars.  It  got  to  be  a 
joke,  as  much  of  a  chestnut  as  "Annie  Rooney." 

Meeting  Congressman  Amos  Cummings  one  day,  I 
asked  him  how  he  was  getting  on  financially. 

"Splendidly,"  said  the  old  journalist.  "I've  just 
been  offered  a  splendid  situation." 


SATIRE  KILLS  ERROR.  1 37 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  I'd  spent  .ill  my  congressional  salary,  and 
felt  pretty  poor,  and  this  afternoon  1  went  into  the 
Eden  Mus6e  and  asked  for  a  situation. 

"'What  can  you  do?'  asked  the  manager. 

"  'I'm  a  freak,'  I  said. 

"  'Well,  what  can  you  do?' 

"  'This,  sir,"  I  said.  'I've  been  in  New  York  now  for 
ten  days  and  haven't  said  a  word  about  the  tariff.' 

"  'All  right,  I'll  give  you  sixty  dollars  a  week.'  " 

SATIRIZING   THE   AGNOSTICS. 

The  most  scientific  way  to  destroy  the  errors  of  the 
agnostics  is  to  satirize  them — intensify  them.  The 
agnostic  assaults  Christianity  with  ridicule,  as  I  shall 
show  later  on.  Satire  kills  error,  while  ridicule  harms 
truth.  This  is  the  way  I  would  satirize  the  theories  of 
such  agnostics  as  Spencer,  Huxley,  and  Ingersoll : 

Yes,  I  am  an  agnostic.  I  reject  the  Bible  and  agree 
with  Huxley,  Darwin,  and  Ingersoll  in  a  religion  of 
reason  and  not  of  inspiration.  Down  witli  wicked 
Christianity  and  the  churches.  The  old  theory  of 
creation  is  all  wrong.  Nothing  was  created.  Every- 
thing grew.  In  the  old  Bible  we  read:  "In  the  begin- 
ning God  created  heaven  and  earth." 

"Now  this  is  all  wrong,"  say  Darwin  and  I.  Our 
new  Bible  is  to  commence  like  this: 

Genesis.    Chap.  I. 

1.  There  never  was  a  beginning.  The  Eternal  with- 
out us,  that  maketh  for  righteousness,  took  no  notice 
whatever  of  anything. 

2.  And    Cosmos  was  homogeneous   and   undifferen- 


138         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

tiated,  and  somehow  or  another  evolution  began,  and 
molecules  appeared. 

3.  And  molecule  evolved  protoplasm,  and  rhythmic 
thrills  arose,  and  then  there  was  light. 

4.  And  a  spirit  of  energy  was  developed  and  formed 
the  plastic  cell,  whence  arose  the  primordial  germ. 

5.  And  the  primordial  germ  became  protogene,  and 
protogene  somehow  shaped  eocene — then  was  the 
dawn  of  life. 

6.  And  the  herb  yielding  seed,  and  the  fruit  tree 
yielding  fruit,  after  its  own  kind,  whose  seed  is  in  itself, 
developed  according  to  its  own  fancy.  And  the  Eternal 
without  us,  that  maketh  for  righteousness,  neither  knew 
nor  cared  anything  about  it. 

7.  The  cattle  after  his  kind,  the  beast  of  the  earth 
after  his  kind,  and  every  creeping  thing  became  evolved 
by  heterogeneous  segregation  and  concomitant  dissipa- 
tion of  motion. 

8.  So  that  by  survival  of  the  fittest  there  evolved 
the  simiads  from  the  jelly-fish,  and  the  simiads  differen- 
tiated themselves  into  the  anthropomorphic  primordial 
types. 

9.  And  in  due  time  one  lost  his  tail  and  became  a 
man,  and  behold  he  was  the  most  cunning  of  all 
animals;  and  lo !  the  fast  men  killed  the  slow  men, 
and  it  was  ordained  to  be  so  in  every  age. 

10.  And  in  process  of  time,  by  natural  selection  and 
survival  of  the  fittest,  Matthew  Arnold,  Huxley, 
Herbert  Spencer,  Charles  Darwin,  and  Robert  Ingersoll 
appeared,  and  behold  it  was  good ! 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH. 


Ridiculing  Truth  and  Laughing  it  out  of  Court— Randolph  ridicules 
Clay — Ingersoll  ridicules  Christianity — How  to  meet  Ridicule — 
Ridiculing  Ritualism — Beecher  ridicules  Bob— Ridicule  a  Lawyer's 
weapon,  not  the  Clergyman's— Christ  used  Satire  but  not  Ridicule. 

AFTER  making  the  discovery  that  satire  destroys 
error,  I  commenced  investigating  ridicule.  The 
rhetoricians  have  never  separated  the  two.  I  found 
that  when  Cervantes  wanted  to  kill  knight-errantry  in 
Spain  he  exaggerated  it,  and  that  when  Ingersoll 
wanted  to  kill  Christianity  he  ridiculed  it.  I  found 
that  the  lawyer  who  was  on  the  wrong  side  in  a  case 
always  ridiculed  the  right  side.  Satire  is  to  exaggerate 
an  error  till  you  see  it  and  stamp  it  out;  while  ridicule 
is  to  exaggerate  a  truth,  deform  it,  and  you  laugh  it  out. 
With  satire  the  error  goes  with  a  kick,  while  with  ridi- 
cule the  truth  goes  with  a  laugh.  Ridicule  is  an  awful 
weapon,  because  with  it  you  can  harm  the  truth.  In 
fact  the  only  way  to  harm  truth  is  to  ridicule  it.  Deny 
truth?  That  don't  hurt  truth  any.  You  will  simply 
impeach  your  own  veracity — kill  yourself.  But  you 
can  ridicule  truth  and,  as  the  lawyers  say,  "laugh  it  out 
of  court." 

This  is  the  reason  why  lawyers  always  use  ridicule — 
in  all  law  cases  only  one  side  is  right ;  the  other  must 
be  wrong;  and  the  man  who  is  on  the  wrong  side,  if  he 
is  a  good  lawyer,  will  not  say  a  word  about  his  side,  but 

"39 


14°         ELI  PERKLYS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

he  will  walk  over  to  the  right  side,  exaggerate  it,  and 
"laugh  it  out  of  court." 

To  show  you  how  lawyers  ridicule  the  truth,  to  kill 
it :  I  attended  a  murder  case  a  while  ago  in  Akron,  O. 
It  was  a  homicide  case — a  case  where  a  man  had  acci- 
dentally killed  his  friend.  This  lawyer  wanted  to  win 
the  sympathy  of  the  jury,  and  he  told  the  jury,  in  a 
very  pathetic  and  truthful  manner,  how  bad  his  client 
felt". 

"Oh,  my  client  felt  so  bad,"  he  began,  in  weeping 
tones,  "felt  so  bad  when  he  killed  his  friend,  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks;  he  knelt  down  by  that 
fallen  form  !" 

Well,  the  jury  knew  that  his  touching  pathos  was 
true,  and  so  did  the  other  lawyer.  But  the  opposing 
counsel  could  not  let  it  stand,  because  it  had  touched 
the  jury.  What  did  he  do?  Why,  he  took  that  true 
pathos  right  over  on  the  other  side,  exaggerated  it,  and 
turned  it  into  ridicule,  and  laughed  it  out  of  court. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  exaggerated  pathos,  "the  accused 
did  feel  bad  when  he  killed  his  friend.  The  tears  did 
roll  down  his  cheeks.  He  took  off  one  boot,  and 
emptied  it  [laughter  by  the  jury] ;  then  he  cried  some 
more;  then  he  emptied  his  other  boot  [laughter];  then 
he  tied  his  handkerchief  around  his  trousers — cried  'em 
full,  boo-hoo!"     [Laughter  by  the  jury.] 

In  a  moment  he  had  that  jury  laughing  at  exagger- 
ated truth  and  pathos. 

The  truth  was  gone ! 

A  good  lawyer  never  denies  a  true  statement  before 
the  jury;  it  is  much  easier  to  exaggerate  that  state- 
ment, and  make  the  jury  "laugh  it  out  of  court." 

Colonel  Ingersoll  often  squelched  the  opposing  coun- 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH,  141 

sel  by  a  blast  of  ridicule,  ( )ne  day  in  Peoria  they  were 
trying  a  patent  churn  case.  The  opposing  counsel  used 
many  scientific  terms,  lie  talked  about  the  science  of 
the  machine,  and  how  his  client  had  contributed  to  sci- 
ence a  valuable  discovery. 

"Science!"  yelled  Colonel  Ingersoll.  "The  opposing 
counsel  is  always  talking  about  science,  and  see"  (look- 
ing over  at  the  opposing  counsel's  brief),  "he  spells  it 
with  a  'y' — with  a  'y,'  sir!  C-y-e-n-Cre." 

The  jury  burst  out  laughing  and  the  truth-loving 
scientist  lost  a  good  case. 

If  you  read  .Kschines  or  Aristippus,  the  cynic  and 
pupil  of  Socrates,  in  the  old  Greek,  you  will  see  most 
charming  ridicule.     Aristippus  was  full  of  it. 

On  one  occasion,  when  Athens  was  running  to  muscle 
instead  of  brains,  Sinon,  a  swell  young  athlete,  came 
to  Aristippus  and  others  and  commenced  boastine 
about  his  muscle. 

"I  tell  you,  sir,"  said  the  boasting  Sinon,  "I  can  swim 
farther  than  any  man  in  Athens." 

"And  so  can  a  goose,"  said  Aristippus. 

"Yes,  and  I  can  dive  deeper  than  any  man  in  Greece." 

"And  so  can  a  bull-frog,"  said  Diogenes. 

"And,  more  than  that,  I  can  kick  higher  than  any 
man  in  Athens,  and " 

"And  so  can  a  jackass,"  interrupted  ^Eschines. 

"And  more  than  all  of  these,  everybody  says  I'm  the 
handsomest  man  in  Athens." 

"And  so  is  a  brass  statue, — a  hollow  brass  statue, — 
and  it  has  neither  life  nor  brains,"  said  Aristippus. 

"And  they  say  I  have  the  most  musical  voice  in  the 
city." 

"And  so  has  a  tin  horn.     A  tin  horn  with  an  idiot 


142  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

behind   it  can   make   better  music  than  any  singer  in 

G»> 
reece. 

This  made  Sinon  mad,  and  he  twitted  Aristippus 
with  having  no  children. 

"The  gods  will  not  permit  any  more  such  cynics  to 
be  born,  while  I  have  many  children,"  said  the  singer. 

"Yes,  you  ignoramus,"  said  Aristippus,  "you  boast 
of  a  quality  in  which  all  slaves  are  your  equal  and  every 
jackass  your  superior!" 

Strange  to  say,  eighteen  hundred  years  afterward, 
John  Randolph  used  Sinon's  reply  to  Clay  when  he 
twitted  the  cynic  of  Roanoke  with  having  no  children. 

But  Clay  afterward  used  Randolph  all  up  when  he 
made  this  witty  reply,  which  will  live  as  long  as  history  : 

One  day  Clay  met  his  disagreeable  enemy,  Randolph, 
on  the  sidewalk.  The  cranky  old  Virginian  came 
proudly  up,  and  occupying  most  of  the  sidewalk  hissed  : 

"I  never  turn  out  for  scoundrels!" 

"I  always  "do,"  said  Clay,  stepping  aside  with  mock 
politeness. 

Ridicule  will  use  a  man  up  quicker  than  abuse. 
Abuse  makes  a  man  combative  and  he  will  fight  back, 
while  ridicule  is  unanswerable. 

I  remember  the  case  of  an  indignant  commercial 
traveler  at  a  Mississippi  railroad  eating-house,  who  was 
utterly  routed  by  a  little  ridicule  from  the  landlord. 
This  particular  commercial  man  was  a  great  fault-finder, 
and  that  day  he  was  growling  when  he  went  in,  and  he 
growled  all  the  while  he  was  eating,  and  when  he 
slouched  up  to  the  desk  to  pay  his  seventy-five  cents  he 
broke  out  with : 

"Them  sandwiches  are  enough  to  kill  a  dog!" 

"What  sandwiches?" 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH.  143 

"Why,  them  on  the  table." 

"But  we  have  no  sandwiches  on  the  table,  sir,"  pro- 
tested the  landlord. 

"You  haven't?  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  call  them  roasted  brickbats  on  that  blue  platter?" 

"You  didn't  try  to  eat  one  of  those,  did  you?"  asked 
the  landlord  solemnly. 

"Yes,  I  did !" 

"Then,  my  friend,  you  had  better  go  for  a  doctor  at 
once!  Those  are  table  ornaments,  made  of  terra-cotta, 
and  were  placed  there  to  help  fill  up  space!  Great 
Caesar!  you  must  have  lived  in  a  canebrake  all  your 
life!" 

The  commercial  man  rushed  into  the  car  and  began 
to  drain  a  brandy  flask,  and  he  didn't  get  over  looking 
pale  for  three  hours. 

"And  they  were  sandwiches  after  all,"  said  the  land- 
lord;  "real  good  ham  sandwiches,  made  that  day." 

The  landlord  had  adopted  that  particular  style  of 
ridicule  instead  of  using  a  club. 

Ingersoll  often  used  ridicule  effectively  in  politics. 
One  evening  a  lot  of  Democrats  at  the  Manhattan  Club 
were  grumbling  because  the  Republicans  boasted  so 
much  about  the  past.  "You  Republicans,"  said  Daniel 
Voorhees,  "are  always  talking  about  how  you  broke  up 
slavery-  and  fought  through  the  war.  Oh,  bury  the 
past.  Speak  about  the  present.  We  Democrats  are 
not  always  lugging  in  the  past !" 

'Yes,"  said  Colonel  Ingersoll,  "I  should  think  the 
Democratic  party  would  bury  its  past,  and  its  future, 
too,  if  it  ever  has  any.  If  the  Democratic  party  had  a 
glorious  past  it  would  not  wish  to  forget  it.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  Republican  party  there  would  be  no  United 


144         ELI  PERKIXS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT 

States  now  on  the  map  of  the  world.  The  Democratic 
party  wishes  to  make  a  bargain  with  us  to  say  nothing 
about  the  past  and  nothing  about  character.  It  reminds 
me  of  the  contract  that  the  rooster  proposed  to  make 
with  the  horse :  Let  us  agree  not  to  step  on  each 
other's  feet." 

The  colonel's  reply  laughed  Voorhees  out  of  court. 

Mr.  Beecher  probably  made  the  wittiest  joke  on 
Ingersoll  that  history  will  record,  and  it  is  recorded  in 
this  book  for  the  first  time.  I  was  talking  with  the 
great  Plymouth  preacher  about  the  eloquent  agnostic, 
when  Beecher  remarked  solemnly: 

"Yes,  Robert  Ingersoll  is  eloquent — very  eloquent." 

"Do  you  think  his  works  and  sayings  will  live?"  I 
asked. 

"Yes,  he  will  go  down  with  Voltaire  and  Thomas 
Paine,  and  I  should  like  to  write  his  epitaph  if  the  great 
agnostic  would  forgive  me  for  it." 

"What  would  you  write?" 

"Simply  this  line,"  said  Beecher,  smiling: 


ROBERT    BURNS 


It  is  seldom  that  Ingersoll  meets  a  man  who  can 
stand  up  against  his  eloquence  and  wit.  The  great  ag. 
nostic  and  Mr.  Beecher  met  on  the  Alton  train  one  day 
just  after  a  famous  Christian  banker  had  defaulted  and 
fled  to  Canada. 

"That's  the  way  with  you  Christians,"  said  Inger- 
soll. 'Here  is  a  professed  Christian  who  has  been  a 
class  leader  and  a  vestryman,  and  now  the  hypocrite 
robs  a  bank  and  away  he  goes  to  Canada." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  a  Christian  make  an  uproar, 
Colonel,  when  an  anti-Christian  committed  a  crime — 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH.  J  45 

when   he   robbed   a   bank   and    fled   to  Canada?"  asked 
Beecher. 

"I  don't  remember  any  such  case  now,"  said  Ingersoll. 

"No,  you  are  not  surprised  when  a  worldly  man  com- 
mits a  crime.  You  don't  notice  it.  It  is  nothing  un- 
usual. You  see,"  continued  Beecher,  "you  expect  us 
Christians  to  be  perfect.  You  expect  us  to  be  as  pure 
and  holy  as  our  religion." 

"Of  course,"  said  Ingersoll. 

"And  when  you  say  'of  course,'  you  pay  us  a  com- 
pliment, and  when  you  show  great  surprise  that  one  of 
us  should  chance  to  do  wrong,  you  pay  us  a  still  finer 
compliment.      Don't  you?" 

Mr.  Ingersoll  was  silent,  and  commenced  winding 
his  Waterbury  watch. 

As  the  train  passed  Joliet,  Ingersoll  commenced  com- 
plaining in  a  bantering  way  about  the  hardships  Chris- 
tian people  have  to  endure  in  this  world.  'They  have 
cyclones  in  Iowa,"  he  said,  "grasshoppers  in  Kansas, 
famines  in  Ireland,  floods  in  Pennsylvania,  yellow  fever 
in  Galveston,  George  Francis  Train  in  New  York,  and 
small-pox  epidemics  in  Baltimore.  It  is  very  hard," 
said  Mr.  Ingersoll. 

'What  does  all  this  prove?"  asked  Beecher. 

"It  proves  that  the  universe  is  not  governed  by  a 
personal  God,  but  by  law,  law,  law.  There  is  no  per- 
sonal God  or  devil.  Such  ideas  are  only  worthy  of  a 
savage.  Huxley,  and  Darwin,  and  Galileo  would  laugh 
at  such  ideas.  Was  it  a  personal  God  who  burned  up 
five  hundred  people  in  the  Chicago  fire.  No,  it  was 
not  God.  It  was  law.  Foolish  Mrs.  O'Leary  tipped 
over  her  lantern.  By  the  law  of  combustion  fire  started 
and  burnt  saints  and  sinners  to  death." 


1 46  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"If  there  were  a  personal  God,  and  you  were  in  his 
place,  could  you  make  anything  better  than  it  'is 
being  made?"  asked  Beecher. 

"Why,  yes.  I  could  make  some  things  better  than 
they  are,"  said  Mr.  Ingersoll. 

"Now  what  is  one  thing  that  you  would  change  and 
improve?  Tell  me  one  thing  that  you  would  make  dif- 
ferent than  it  is?  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  with  our 
feeble  intellect  we  could  improve  on  anything  the  Al- 
mighty has  made?" 

"Yes,  certainly  I  could,"  said  Ingersoll,  pushed  to 
the  wall. 

"Well,  tell  me  one  single  thing  that  you  could  im- 
prove on." 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Ingersoll,  "if  I  had  my  way  in 
this  world,  I  would  make  health  catching,  instead  of 
disease  catching!" 

Before  the  train  reached  Chicago,  Beecher  got  even 
with  the  great  agnostic.  In  the  seat  by  the  Brooklyn 
preacher  was  a  beautiful  celestial  globe — a  present  from 
a  manufacturer  in  Bloomington.  On  it  was  an  excellent 
representation  of  the  constellations  and  stars  which 
compose  them.  There  were  the  rings  of  Saturn  and 
satellites  of  Uranus.  Ingersoll  was  delighted  with  the 
globe.  He  examined  it  closely  and  turned  it  round 
and  round. 

"It's  just  what  I  want,"  he  said.     "Who  made  it?" 

' '  Who  made  it  ?"  repeated  Beecher.  "  Who  made  this 
globe?     Oh,  nobody,  Colonel;  it  just  happened!" 

"No,  no,  it  couldn't  happen!"  said  Ingersoll. 

"Then  no  more  could  this  great  universe  happen," 
said  Beecher  enthusiastically.     "God  made  it!" 

The  great  agnostic  was  silenced. 


RIDICULE  KILLS   LRU  ILL.  M7 

To  illustrate  ridicule,  I  reprint  a  talk  I  made  before 
the  Portsmouth  Y.  M.  C.  A.  last  winter.  I  give  it  as 
reported  in  the  morning  newspaper: 

"Ridicule,"  said  Eli  Perkins,  "is  to  kill  truth.  A 
good  lawyer  will  never  deny  a  truth  before  a  jury. 
That  would  impeach  his  veracity  and  disgust  the 
jury.  His  true  weapon  is  ridicule.  He  must  exagger- 
ate that  truth,  overstate  it,  deform  it,  and  make  the 
jury  laugh  it  out  of  court. 

"Ingersoll,  in  his  discussions  with  Talmage,  never 
denied  a  true  statement  of  Talmage.  I  use  Ingersoll 
to  illustrate  my  theory  because  the  genial  agnostic  is 
the  king  of  ridiculers.  Ridicule  is  his  weapon,  and  truth 
is  his  target.  I  say  Ingersoll  exaggerated  the  true 
statements  of  Talmage  and  made  them  ridiculous. 
For  instance,  Talmage  made  a  statement  about  Jonah. 
He  said,  'perhaps  the  whale  didn't  swallow  Jonah.  Per- 
haps the  whale  simply  took  Jonah  in  his  mouth,  carried 
him  round  a  day  or  two,  and  then  vomited  him  up.' 
That  was  enough  for  Bob.  He  didn't  deny  it.  He 
went  across  the  platform,  and  exaggerated  Talmage's 
statement.  'Yes,' said  Ingersoll,  'I  can  see  Jonah  in 
the  whale's  mouth.  He  ties  himself  up  to  a  tooth  and 
when  the  whale  chews,  Jonah,  he  crouches  down — 
crouches  down  [laughter,  while  Rob  crouches  down, 
keeping  time  with  the  whale's  jaw],  and  by  and  by, 
when  the  whale  isn't  looking,  Jonah,  he  jumps  over  into 
a  hollow  tooth,  builds  a  fire,  reaches  out  and  catches 
a  few  fish  and  fries  'em  ;  peek-a-boo  !'  [Great  laughter.  ] 
And  so  he  laughs  Talmage's  statement  out  of  court; 
but  has  he  denied  it?     Not  at  all. 

"Now,  again,  when  Ingersoll  wants  to  ridicule  the 
Church,  he  doesn't    take   the    Church   of   to-day.      He 


I48  ELI  PERKINS—THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

couldn't  ridicule  that.  So  what  does  he  do?  Why, 
he  goes  back  four  hundred  years  for  that  Church.  He 
goes  back  to  the  barbarous  Inquisition,  when  every 
man  was  a  savage,  with  a  spear  in  one  hand  and  a 
hatchet  in  the  other,  trying  to  kill  his  fellow-man. 
!  Applause.]  He  goes  back  to  bloody  Spain,  where  the 
State  had  seized  the  Church,  and  they  were  burning 
Protestants  at  the  stake,  pulling  their  arms  out  on  the 
rack,  or  boring  their  eyes  out  with  augers;  or  he  goes 
to  England  in  the  time  of  Bloody  Mary,  when  the  State 
had  seized  the  Church,  and  the  Church  was  not  [ap- 
plause] ;  where  they  were  toasting  John  Huss  and 
Cranmer  and  Latimer  in  the  fires  of  the  Inquisition; 
where  they  were  burning  the  saints' eyes  out;  I  say, 
he  finds  the  Church  in  the  hands  of  Bloody  Mary,  and 
he  takes  that  Church  and  puts  it  down  before  our  young 
men  of  to-day.  Then  he  sets  Deacon  Thompson  to 
boring  Deacon  Monson's  eyes  out  with  an  auger,  and 
then  asks  our  young  if  they  want  to  belong  to  any 
such  wicked  old  church  as  that?     [Laughter.] 

"Now,  that  isn't  the  church  they  are  asked  to  belong 
to.     [Applause.] 

"  Ridicule  is  to  harm  truth,  not  error.  Our  clergymen 
have  no  occasion  to  use  ridicule,  for  the  business  of  the 
clergyman  is  not  to  harm  truth  but  to  harm  error.  So 
he  can  use  satire  all  day  long,  because  our  Saviour  used 
it.     Our  Saviour  never  used  ridicule.     [Applause.] 

"In  fact,  when  any  man  uses  ridicule  in  speech  or 
editorial  he  is  trying  to  stab  the  truth,  for  that  is  what 
the  weapon  is  for. 

"I  heard  Ingersoll  deliver  his  great  lecture  on  the 
'  Mistakes  of  Moses,'  in  Indianapolis.  Splendid  speech  ! 
I  wouldn't  take  one  plume  from  the  hat  of  that  eloquent 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH.  M9 

infidel !  But  what  did  that  speech  consist  of?  Like  all 
of  his  speeches,  it  was  made  up  of  nine  magnificent 
truths  about  human  liberty,  and  human  love,  and  wife's 
love,  and  then  he  took  one  little  religious  truth,  multi- 
plied it  by  five,  turned  it  into  ridicule,  and  'laughed  it 
out  of  court.'  And  the  result?  Why,  the  next  day, 
as  usual,  all  our  clergymen  came  out  and  denied  the 
whole  lecture — denied  ridicule!  That  is  the  mistake 
our  clergymen  have  been  making  for  ten  years.  I 
meet  young  men  every  day  trembling  in  the  balance, 
because  you  clergymen  have  denied  too  much  and  not 
explained  at  all.  You  have  not  met  the  infidel  logic- 
ally. If  I  had  followed  the  great  agnostic,  I  should 
have  said : 

"'Why,  Ingersoll,  you  have  just  found  out  that 
Moses  and  the  Jews,  the  anti-Christ,  made  mistakes! 
We  Christians  knew  that  Moses  made  mistakes  two 
thousand  years  ago.  It  is  written  there  in  the  Bible 
as  plain  as  day  how  Moses  murdered  an  Egyptian,  hid 
him  in  the  sand,  and  lied  about  it.  Why,  Bob,  if  Moses 
and  the  Jews  hadn't  made  mistakes  there  wouldn't  have 
been  any  New  Testament,  there  wouldn't  have  been  any 
Christianity,  there  wouldn't  have  been  any  need  of 
Christ.  Christ  came  to  correct  the  mistakes  of  Moses. 
[Applause.  ]  Why,  Bob,  where  did  you  get  your  news? 
You  must  have  just  got  your  Jerusalem  Herald — 
delayed  in  a  storm  !'     [Laughter.] 

"Then  I  would  have  said  to  those  Ingersollized 
Christians,  'Why,  my  dear,  trembling  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, we  haven't  got  to  defend  Moses,  the  Jew,  because 
he  made  mistakes,  because  he  murdered  and  lied  [sen- 
sation] ;  we  Christians  haven't  got  to  defend  the  falter- 
ing  Noah  when   he   got  drunk;  we  Christians   haven't 


15°  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OE  WIT. 

got  to  defend  David  when  he  became  a  Nero  and  slayed 
and  debauched  his  people;  and  we  Christians  haven't 
got  to  defend  that  miserable  king  of  the  Jews,  Solomon, 
when  he  had  four  hundred  more  wives  than  Brigham 
Young.  [Sensation.]  But  all  we  Christians  have  got 
to  do,  and  it  is  so  easy,  is  to  stand  by  the  Bible  ac- 
count— that  the  Bible  is  true,  just  as  it  is  written  in 
black  and  white  !  They  did  make  mistakes,  those  Jews 
did,  and  they  made  such  grievous  mistakes  that  God 
threw  the  whole  Jewish  dispensation  overboard  as  a 
failure, — 'God  did  nothing  in  vain, — and  started  a  new 
dispensation,  the  Christian  dispensation,  and  sent  his 
only  beloved  Son,  Christ,  to  sit  on  the  throne  at  the 
head  of  it.  [Applause.]  What !  you  defending  the 
unbelieving  Jew — the  anti-Christ?  God  never  de- 
fended them.  They  did  just  the  best  they  could, 
those  poor  Jews  did,  without  Christ.  [Applause.] 
There  could  be  no  perfection  without  Christ.  [Ap- 
plause.] 

'Now  Christians,  wait  till  some  one  shall  assault 
Christianity,  not  Judaism;  wait  till  some  one  shall  as- 
sault Christ,  not  Moses.  But  no  one  has  assaulted 
Christ.  Renan?  Never.  Ingersoll?  Never.  When 
they  come  to  Christ  they  stand  with  heads  uncovered. 
[Loud  applause.] 

T  would  say  more  on  this  theological  subject — I 
would  kill  the  devil — I  hate  him  and  I  would  kill  him, 
but  I  see  there  are  several  clergymen  present  and  they 
— have — their — families — to — support!"  [Loud  laugh- 
ter drowned  the  speaker's  voice.] 

"The  fact  is,  a  great  many  people  who  never  think 
of  reading  the  Scriptures,  but  who  keep  a  dusty  Bible 
to  press  flowers  in  and  as  a  receptacle  for  receipts  for 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH.  15  I 

making  biscuits,  often  cavil  about  some  theology  that 
they  hear  about  in  the  corner  grocery.  A  grocery 
theologian  said  to  me  one  day,  'You  don't  believe  in 
Noah  and  the  flood,  do  you  ?'     'Yes,'  I  said, 'and  in  the 

Johnstown  flood  too,  when  iS,ooo  were  eating  and 
drinking,  and  "that  flood  came  and  took  them  off." 
Christ  said  that  "when  lie  should  come  again  it  would 
be  as  in  the  days  of  Noah."  ' 

1  'And  the  whale  story,  too.  Do  you  believe  that'' 
"  'Now  there  is  your  corner  grocery  theology  again. 
The  Bible  don't  say  anything  about  a  whale.  It  says, 
"And  God  prepared  a  great  fish."  And  if  God  could 
make  the  universe;  if  He  could  say,  "let  there  be 
light,"  lie  could  say,  "let  there  be  a  big  fish."  The 
world  is  a  miracle,  the  violet  is  a  miracle;  man  is  a 
miracle,  the  fish  is  a  miracle.' 

'And  that  story  of  Balaam.  Do  you  believe  that?' 
says  the  grocery  theologian.  'Why,  scientists  have  ex- 
amined the  mouth  of  an  ass,  and  they  say  it  is  physic- 
ally impossible  for  him  to  speak.' 

"To  this  I  answered,  with  all  the  sarcasm  of  Moody. 
'If  you  will  make  an  ass,  I  will  make  him  speak!'  It's 
all  a  miracle,  life,  joy,  laughter,  tears,  and  death;  and 
He  who  can  create  man  can  resurrect  his  soul  and  waft 
it  away  to  eternal  joy  !"     [Loud  applause.] 


The  argument  reductio  ad  absurdum  is  an  argument 
of  ridicule.     This  was  one  of  Wendell  Phillips'  favorite 


arguments. 


"One  d  iv,"  said  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  "I  was  riding 
in  the  cars  near  Philadelphia,  when  several  Southern 
clergymen  got  into  the  car.  When  one  of  them  heard 
that   Wendell   Phillips,  the   great  antislavery  agitator, 


152  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

was  on  board,  he  asked  the  conductor  to  point  him  out. 
The  conductor  did  so,  and  the  Southern  clergyman 
came  up  to  the  orator,  and  bowing,  said : 

T  beg  pardon,  but  you  are  Mr.  Phillips — Mr.  Wen- 
dell Phillips,  of  Boston?' 
Yes,  sir. 

'I  should  like  to  speak  to  you  about  something,  and 
I  trust,  sir,  you  will  not  be  offended,'  said  the  Southern 
clergyman  politely. 

"  'There  is  no  fear  of  it,'  was  the  sturdy  answer;  and 
then  the  minister  began  to  ask  Mr.  Phillips  earnestly 
why  he  persisted  in  stirring  up  such  an  unfriendly  agi- 
tation in  the  North  about  the  evil  of  slavery,  when  it 
existed  in  the  South. 

"  'Why,'  said  the  clergyman,  'do  you  not  go  South 
and  kick  up  this  fuss  and  leave  the  North  in  peace?' 

"Mr.  Phillips  was  not  the  least  ruffled,  and  answered 
smilingly: 

'  'You,  sir,  I  presume,  are  a  minister  of  the  Gospel?' 

"  'I  am,  sir,'  said  the  clergyman. 

"  'And  your  calling  is  to  save  souls  from  hell?' 

"  'Exactly,  sir.' 

"  'Then  why  do  you  stay  here  in  Pennsylvania,  agi- 
tating the  question   of  salvation?  why  don't  you   go 
right    down    to    hell,  where    the  sinners  are,  and  save 
em  ? 

The  Southern  clergyman  saw  his  absurd  position  at 
once. 

Wendell  Phillips  was  once  accosted  by  Dr.  Monson, 
a  professed  deist,  who  asked  him  : 

"Do  you  think  a  man  has  a  soul?" 
Yes. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  soul?" 


RIDICULE  KILLS   TRUTH.  153 

"No." 

"Did  you  ever  taste  a  soul?" 

"No." 

"Did  vou  ever  smell  a  soul?" 

"No."' 

"Did  you  ever  feel  a  soul?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "there  are  four  of  the  five 
senses  against  one  upon  the  question  whether  there  be 
a  soul. 

"Look  here,  Dr.  Monson,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  "you 
are  a  physician,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  pain?" 

«  *  XT         •• 

No. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  a  pain?" 
"No." 

"Did  you  ever  taste  a  pain?" 
"No." 
"Did  you  ever  smell  a  pain?' 

.    .    XT  M 

No. 

"Did  you  ever  feel  a  pain?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Phillips,  "there  are  also  four  of 
the  senses  against  one  upon  the  question  whether  there 
be  a  pain.  And  yet  sir,  you  know  that  there  is  a  pain, 
and  I  know  that  there  is  a  soul." 

One  of  Ingersoll's  favorite  arguments  against  the  old 
Connecticut  blue  laws  was  the  reductio  ad  absurdum 
fallacy. 

One  day  Ingersoll  was  talking  with  Talmage  about 
laws  for  the  enforcement  of  Sunday  observance,  when  he 
asked  the  great  Brooklyn  preacher  these  questions; 


154  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Would  you  like  to  live  in  a  community,  Mr.  Tal- 
mage,  where  not  one  cigar  could  be  smoked  and  not 
one  drop  of  spirituous  liquor  could  be  sold  or 
drunk?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Talmage;  "that  would  be  asocial 
heaven." 

"And  you  would  like  to  live  where  no  one  could 
play  on  the  Sabbath  day;  where  no  one  could  laugh 
out  loud  and  enjoy  a  frolic?" 

"Certainly." 

"And  where  every  one  had  to  go  to  church?" 

"Yes,  sir;  that  would  suit  me.  It  would  be  paradise 
to  live  in  a  community  where  every  one  was  compelled 
to  go  to  church  every  Sunday,  where  no  one  could 
drink  a  drop,  where  no  one  could  swear,  and  where  the 
law  would  make  every  man  good.  There  the  law 
would  make  every  man's  deportment  absolutely  cor- 
rect." 

"And  you  think  such  a  man  would  be  a  good 
Christian — a  better  man  than  I  am?" 

"Why,  of  course,  Colonel." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Ingersoll,  "I  advise  you  to  go 
right  to  the  penitentiary.  At  Sing  Sing  there  is  a 
community  of  1500  men  and  women  governed  in 
precisely  that  manner.     They  are  all  good  by  law." 

The  witty  Quaker  lecture  committeeman  at  Swarth- 
morc  College  used  this  same  fallacy  when  he  came  to 
pay  me  my  lecture  fee.  He  came  up  to  me  with  a  roll 
of  bills  in  his  hand  and  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  and  said, 
as  he  counted  out  my  fee : 

"Eli,  my  friend,  does  thee  believe  in  the  maxims  of 
Benjamin  Franklin?" 

"Yea,"  I  said. 


RIDICULE  KILLS  TRUTH.  155 

"Well,  friend  Eli,  Benjamin  Franklin,  in  his  Poor 
Richard  maxims,  says  that  'Time  is  money.'  ' 

"Yea,  verily,  I  have  read  it,"  I  said. 

"Well,  Eli,  if  'time  is  money,'  as  thy  friend  Poor 
Richard  says,  and  thee  believes  so,  then  verily  we  will 
keep  the  money,  and  thee  can  take  it  out  in  time." 


ELI  EXPLAINS   REPARTEE. 


The  Repartee  of  Diogenes  and  Aristippus  of  Greece,  Talleyrand  and 
Madame  de  Stael  of  France,  Charles  Lamb  and  Douglas  Jerrold  of 
England,  and  Tom  Corwin,  Randolph,  Thad.  Stevens,  Sam  Jones, 
Ben.  Butler,  Wendell  Phillips,  and  Sam  Cox  of  America— Blaine 
and  Conkling's  Repartee. 

REPARTEE,  like  ridicule  and  satire,  is  a  species  of 
wit.     It  is  a  quick  flash  of  the  imagination — a  sort 
of  intellectual  stab. 

In  the  case  of  the  bull  or  blunder,  a  person  stum- 
bles into  a  witticism ;  but  repartee  shows  design  and 
thought. 

Repartee  is  always  a  smart  reply,  but  it  is  not 
necessarily  unkind.  Still  cranky  and  ill-natured  men 
like  Diogenes,  Charles  Lamb,  Thomas  Carlyle,  and 
John  Randolph  have  always  used  it  prolifically. 

Repartee  is  a  case  where  one  speaker  makes  a  plain 
statement,  aimed  in  a  certain  direction,  which  a  hearer 
collides  with  and  reverses  so  as  to  shoot  straight  back 
at  the  speaker. 

"What  I  want,"  said  a  pompous  orator,  aiming  at  his 
antagonist,  "is  good  common  sense." 

"Exactly,"  was  the  whispered  reply;  "that's  just 
what  you  need." 

Repartee  is  often  very  unkind,  but  its  unkindness  is 
excusable  when  the  person  indulging  in  it  has  been  at- 
tacked.    For  instance,  Abernethy,  the  famous  surgeon, 

.56 


ELI  EXPLA INS  REP.  I X  TE E.  1 57 

swore  violently  at  a  poor  Irish  paver  who  had  piled 
some  paving-stones  on  the  doctor's  sidewalk. 

"Remove  them!  away  with  them!"  screamed  Aber- 
nethy,  with  an  oath. 

"But  wln.-re  shall  I  take  them  to?"  asked  Pat. 

"To  hell  with  them!"  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

"Hadn't  I  better  take  them  to  heaven?  Sure,  an' 
they'd  be  more  out  of  your  honor's  way  there,"  said 
Pat,  as  he  leaned  on  his  spade. 

George  Francis  Train  told  me  once  that  in  his  opin- 
ion the  finest  piece  of  repartee  in  the  English  language 
was  the  instance  where  two  Irishmen  were  walking 
under  the  gibbet  at  Newgate.  Looking  up  at  the 
gibbet,  one  of  them  remarked  : 

"Ah,  Pat,  where  would  you  be  if  the  gibbet  had  done 
its  duty?" 

"Faith,  Flannagan,"  said  Pat,  "and  I'd  be  walking 
London — all  alone  !  " 

A  fine  bit  of  repartee  is  attributed  to  Douglas  Jer- 
rold. 

"Have  you  seen  my  'Descent  into  Hell'  ?"  inquired 
an  author,  a  great  bore,  who  had  written  a  book  with  a 
fiery  title : 

"No,"  replied  Douglas  Jerrold,  "but  I  should  like  to." 

I  heard  a  bright  little  reply  at  Spokane  Falls,  while 
on  a  recent  lecture  trip,  which  was  smart  enough  to  be 
repartee : 

There  were  about  a  dozen  witty  commercial  men  at 
dinner  and  a  very  pretty  waiter  girl  was  waiting  on 
them.  She  had  sweet  rosy  cheeks,  ivory  teeth,  and  a 
smile  that  bewitched  the  traveling  men. 

After  chaffing  the  pretty  waitress  a  while,  one  com- 
mercial man  looked  up,  and  asked : 


158  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  pretty  waitress?" 

"My  name,"  said  the  young  lady,  blushing,  "is 
Pearl." 

"Pearl!"  repeated  the  commercial  man.  "That  is 
a  very  pretty  name— a  v-e-r-y  pretty  name."  Then 
thinking  a  moment  he  asked  : 

"Are  you  the  pearl  of  great  price?" 

"No,"  modestly  replied  the  pretty  girl,  "I  am  the 
pearl  before  swine." 

Aristippus,  the  cynic,  and  a  pupil  of  Plato,  was 
famous  for  his  repartee,  although  the  translators 
have  usually  spoiled  his  jokes  by  a  too  literal  trans- 
lation. 

Croesus,  a  rich  Greek  belonging  to  the  400  of  Athens, 
brought  his  stupid  son  to  Aristippus  one  day  to  have 
him  educated. 

"How  much  will  you  charge  to  make  my  boy  a 
scholar?"  he  asked. 

"How  much?"  mused  Aristippus,  as  he  put  his  hand 
on  the  boy's  head.  "How  much?  Why,  five  hundred 
drachmas." 

"Five  hundred  drachmas!"  exclaimed  the  shoddy 
father.  "Why,  that's  too  dear!  Why,  with  five  hun- 
dred drachmas  I  can  buy  a  slave." 

"Then  go  and  buy  him,"  said  Aristippus,  "and  you'll 
have  twins.     You'll  have  a  pair  of  'em." 

"But  how  will  it  benefit  my  son  five  hundred  drachmas' 
worth?"  asked  the  shoddy  Greek. 

"Why,  when  you  go  to  look  for  him  in  the  theater 
you  can  distinguish  him  from  the  wooden  benches. 


** 


*  The  literal  Greek  reply  was,  "  He  will  not  be  one  stone  setting  on 
another."     The  seats  of  the  Athenian  theater  were  of  stone. 


ELI  EXP  LA  INS  REP  A  R  TEE.  1 5  9 

It  was  a  good  bit  of  repartee  that  Henry  Watterson 
got  on  Oscar  Wilde,  the  long-haired  aesthetic: 

Wilde,  in  his  Louisville  lecture,  was  delivering  himself 
of  an  eloquent  tirade  against  the  invasion  of  the  sacred 
domain  of  art  by  the  meaner  herd  of  tradespeople  and 
miscellaneous  nobodies,  and  finally,  rising  to  an  Alpine 
height  of  scorn,  exclaimed  : 

"Ay,  all  of  you  here  are  Philistines — mere  Philis- 
tines !" 

'Yes,"  whispered  Watterson  softly,  "we  are  Philis- 
tines, and  I  suppose  that  is  why  we  are  being  assaulted 
with  the  jawbone  of  an  ass." 

It  would  take  a  book  to  record  all  of  Tom  Corwin's 
bright  and  cutting  instances  of  repartee.  Many  of 
them  are  familiar  to  the  old  reader,  but  I  record  them 
here  for  the  coming  man,  the  boy  growing  up. 

John  C.  Calhoun  once  pointed  to  a  drove  of  mules 
just  from  Ohio,  and  said  to  Corwin :  "There  go  some 
of  your  constituents." 

"Yes,"  said  Tom  gravely,  "they  are  going  down 
South  to  teach  school." 

Governor  Brough  was  once  matched  against  Corwin, 
and  in  the  midst  of  his  speech  said : 

"Gentlemen,  my  honored  opponent  himself,  while  he 
preaches  protective  tariff  and  home  industry,  has  a 
carriage  at  home  which  he  got  in  England,  and  had  it 
shipped  across  the  ocean  in  an  English  ship.  How  is 
that  for  supporting  home  industry  and  labor?" 

When  Corwin  came  on  the  stand  he  made  a  great 
show  of  embarrassment,  stammered,  and  began  slowly: 

"Well,  gentlemen,  you  have  heard  what  my  friend 
Mr.  Brough  has  to  say  of  my  carriage.  I  plead  guilty 
to  the  charges,  and  have  only  two  things  to  say  in  my 


160  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

defense.  The  first  is  that  the  carriage  came  to  me 
from  an  English  ancestor  as  an  heirloom,  and  I  had  to 
take  it.  Again,  I  have  not  used  it  for  seven  years,  and 
it  has  been  standing  in  my  back  yard  all  that  time,  and 
my  chickens  are  roosting  on  it  to-day.  Now,  gentle- 
men," with  a  steady  look  at  Brough,  "I  have  nothing 
further  to  say  in  my  defense;  but  I  would  like  to 
know  how  Brough  knows  anything  about  my  carriage 
if  he  has  not  been  visiting  my  chicken  roost." 

When  I  lectured  before  the  Carlisle  (Pa.)  Teachers' 
Institute  they  told  me  innumerable  stories  about  that 
grim  old  patriot  and  antislavery  agitator,  Thad.  Ste- 
vens, which  almost  bordered  on  repartee. 

One  day  the  old  man  was  practicing  in  the  Carlisle 
courts,  and  he  didn't  like  the  ruling  of  the  presiding 
judge.  A  second  time  the  judge  ruled  against  "old 
Thad,"  when  the  old  man  got  up,  with  scarlet  face  and 
quivering  lips,  and  commenced  tying  up  his  papers  as 
if  to  quit  the  court-room. 

"Do  I  understand,  Mr.  Stevens,"  asked  the  judge, 
eyeing  "old  Thad"  indignantly,  "that  you  wish  to 
show  your  contempt  for  this  Court?" 

"No,  sir;  no,  sir,"  replied  old  Thad.  "I  don't  want 
to    show    my    contempt,    sir;    I'm    trying   to    conceal 

it." 

Alex.  H.  Stephens,  of  Georgia,  weighed  but  seventy- 
four  pounds;  yet  he  was  always  considered  in  the 
South  as  a  man  of  weight. 

Mr.  Stephens  once  severely  worsted  a  gigantic 
Western  opponent  in  debate. 

The  big  fellow,  looking  down  on  Stephens,  burst 
out,  "You!  why,  I  could  swallow  you  whole." 

"If  you  did,"  answered  the  latter,  "you  would  have 


ELI  EXP  LA  INS  REP  A  R  TEE.  1 6 1 

more  brains  in  your  bowels  than  ever  you  had  in  your 
head." 

Wendell  Phillips  said  hundreds  of  things  that  were 
so  sharp  that  his  audiences  didn't  know  whether  it  was 
Phillips,  lightning,  or  repartee. 

I  met  the  grand  old  Abolitionist  on  the  streets  of 
Boston  in  1866.  He  was  going  along  faster  than 
usual,  and  said  he  was  on  his  way  to  Faneuil  Hall, 
where  there  would  probably  be  a  very  exciting  meet- 
ing. The  ex-rebels  had  shot  into  the  negroes  at  the 
polls,  and  President  Grant  had  called  out  the  troops  in 
New  Orleans  to  suppress  riots.  There  was  a  great 
Democratic  crowd  in  the  old  historic  hall,  and  it  ap- 
peared dangerous  for  a  Republican  to  attempt  to 
speak.  I  entered  in  front,  and  just  as  I  cast  my  eyes 
on  the  platform,  I  saw  Mr.  Phillips  begin  to  ascend  it 
from  the  speakers'  entrance.  A  Democratic  orator 
was  speaking,  but  no  sooner  had  Mr.  Phillips'  head 
appeared  above  the  platform  than  the  people  began  to 
shout,  "Phillips,  Phillips!"  Very  soon  he  was  address- 
ing the  audience,  and  endeavored  to  conciliate  and  pac- 
ify his  hearers. 

"In  all  cases  where  any  citizen,  white  or  black,  is  in 
danger,"  he  said,  "it  is  the  duty  of  the  government  to 
protect  him."  No  sooner  had  he  finished  the  sentence 
than  a  number  of  men  began  to  hiss. 

The  great  orator  paused  a  moment,  and  then  an  in- 
spired wrath  took  hold  of  him,  his  great  eyes  gleamed' 
and  in  a  blast  of  irony  he  exclaimed : 

'Truth  thrown  into  the  caldron  of  hell  would  make 
a  noise  like  that !" 

When  the  cheers  had  ceased,  the  silver-tongued  orator 
showered  down  the  following  red-hot  sentences: 


l62  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY    YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"In  the  South,"  he  said,  "we  have  not  only  an  army 
to  conquer,  but  we  have  a  state  of  mind  to  annihilate. 
When  England  conquered  the  Highlands,  she  held 
them — held  them  until  she  could  educate  them  ;  and 
it  took  a  generation.  That  is  just  what  we  have  to  do 
with  the  South;  annihilate  the  old  South,  and  put  a 
new  one  there.  You  do  not  annihilate  a  thing  by 
abolishing  it.     You  must  supply  the  vacancy." 

The  mildest  bit  of  repartee  I  know  of  occurred 
between  the  Poet  Saxe  and  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 
They  were  talking  about  brain  fever  when  Mr.  Saxe 
remarked : 

"I  once  had  a  very  severe  attack  of  brain  fever  my- 
self." 

"How  could  you  have  brain  fever?"  asked  Holmes, 
smiling.  "It  is  only  strong  brains  that  have  brain 
fever." 

"How  did  you  find  that  out?"  asked  Saxe. 

The  Scotch  are  always  very  blunt  with  their 
repartee : 

Sandy  complained  that  he  had  got  a  ringing  in  his 
head. 

"Do  ye  ken  the  reason  o'  that?"  asked  Donald. 

i   i    XT  M 

No. 

"I'll  tell  ye — it's  because  it's  empty." 

"And  ha'e  ye  never  a  ringing  in  your  head?"  asked 
the  other. 

"  No,  never." 

"And  do  ye  ken  the  reason — because  it's  cracked." 

The  man  who  uses  repartee  is  like  the  wasp ;  he 
stings  when  he  is  attacked.  It  was  so  with  Diogenes, 
Chateaubriand,  and  Charles  Lamb. 

A  dear  friend  was  once  expatiating  to  Talleyrand  on 


ELI  EXPLAINS  REPARTEE.  163 

his  mother's  beaut}',  when  the  mean  wit  said,  "Then  it 
must  have  been  your  father  who  was  ugly." 

When  some  one  said  that  Chateaubriand  complained 
of  growing  deaf,  Talleyrand  replied:  "He  thinks  he  is 
deaf  because  he  no  longer  hears  himself  talked  of." 

A  well-known  author  exclaimed,  "During  my  life  I 
have  been  guilty  of  only  one  mistake" 

"Where  will  that  end?"  inquired  Talleyrand. 

A  friend  of  Mr.  Blaine  once  asked  Conkling  if  he 
would    take    the   stump    for    Blaine    in    the    campaign 

of  '84. 

"I  can't,"  said  Conkling  spitefully.  "I  have  retired 
from  criminal  practice." 

Mr.  Blaine  got  even  with  Conkling  for  this  by  tell- 
ing a  story  about  Conkling's  vanity.  "One  day,"  said 
Mr.  Blaine,  "when  Conkling  and  I  were  friends,  the 
proud  New  York  senator  asked  Sam  Cox  whom  he 
thought  were  the  two  greatest  characters  America 
ever  produced?" 

"I  should  say,"  said  Cox  solemnly,  "I  should  say 
the  two  most  distinguished  men  in  America  have 
been  General  Washington  and  yourself." 

"Very  true,"  said  Conkling,  "but  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  drag  in  the  name  of  Washington." 

I  witnessed  a  cutting  rebuke  and  a  sharp  reply  on  the 
part  of  an  American  in  Germany.  The  German  officers 
before  the  Franco-Prussian  war  used  to  be  arrogant 
and  pedantic.  The  German  army  had  not  proved  its 
prowess  then,  and  the  officers  were  sensitive.  But  since 
the  war  with  France  has  proved  that  they  are  the  best 
soldiers  in  the  world,  that  sensitiveness  has  all  gone. 
They  are  sure  of  their  position  and  can  afford  to  be 
magnanimous.     The    Heidelberg    student,  though,   is 


164  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

still    pompous,   arrogant,    and    egotistical;    painful    to 
Democratic  Americans. 

I  was  on  the  steamboat  platform  at  Heidelberg  a 
few  years  ago  with  a  party  of  Americans.  There  was 
a  good  deal  of  jamming  and  crowding,  and  an  American 
happened  to  crowd  a  Heidelberg  student,  a  famous 
class  duelist,  when  he  drew  himself  up  pompously,  his 
scarred  face  all  scowls,  and  exclaimed : 

"Sir,  you  are  crowding;  keep  back,  sir!" 

"Don't  you  like  it,  sonny?"  asked  the  American. 

"Sir!"  scowled  the  student. 

"Don't  you  like  it,  sonny?"  repeated  the  American 
derisively. 

The  German  gave  one  look  full  of  pedantry  and 
hatred,  then  thrusting  his  card  in  the  American's  face 
hissed  out : 

"Allow  me  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  you  have  insulted 
me,  and  that  I  am  at  your  service — at  any  time  and 
place !" 

"Oh,  you  are  at  my  service,  are  you?"  said  the 
American.  "Then  just  carry  this  satchel  to  the  hotel 
for  me !" 

I  have  had  several  tilts  with  General  Butler  during 
the  last  twenty  years,  although  I  am  a  great  admirer 
of  the  man  who  gave  the  first  order  making  old  slaves 
contraband  of  war.  That  order  of  Butler's  settled  the 
question  of  slavery  on  this  continent,  and  Lincoln's 
proclamation  of  freedom  became  a  necessity. 

Even  before  the  war  I  had  written  this  parable  on 
the  general : 

Old  Deacon  Butler,  of  Lowell,  had  one  son,  Ben, 
who  was  very  smart  at  everything,  but  the  deacon 
could  not  tell  what  profession  to  give  him.     So  one 


ELI  EXPLAINS  REPARTEE.  165 

day  he  put  the  boy  in  a  room  with  a  Bible,  an  apple, 
and  a  dollar  bill. 

"If  I  find  Hen  reading  the  Bible  when  I  return," 
said  the  deacon,  "I  shall  make  him  a  clergyman;  if 
eating  the  apple,  a  farmer;  and  if  interested  in  the 
dollar  bill,  a  banker." 

"What  was  the  result?"  you  ask. 

"Well,  when  the  deacon  returned  he  found  his  son 
sitting  on  the  Bible  with  the  dollar  bill  in  his  pocket, 
and  the  apple  almost  devoured." 

"What  did  he  do  with  him?" 

'Why,  he  made  him  a  politician,  and  is  still  running 
for  governor  of  Massachusetts.  Ben  is  still  devouring 
that  apple." 

During  the  war  I  set  this  little  bit  of  satire  afloat: 

General   Butler  went  into  a   hospital  in  Washington 
not  long  since,  to  express  sympathy  with  the  patients. 
'What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  man?"  asked  the 
general,  as  he  gazed  at  the  man  with  a  sore  leg. 

"Oh,  I've  got  gangrene,  General." 

"Gangrene!  why,  that's  a  very  dangerous  disease, 
my  man ;  v-e-r-y  d-a-n-g-e-r-o-u-s,"  said  General  Butler. 
"I  never  knew  a  man  to  have  gangrene  and  recover. 
It  always  kills  the  patient  or  leaves  him  demented. 
I've  had  it  myself!" 

Well,  General  Butler  bided  his  time.  He  waited 
until  he  got  me  in  front  of  him  at  a  Grand  Army 
dinner — got  me  surrounded  and  then  bottled  me  up 
with  his  best  story. 

After  Chauncey  Depew  and  Horace  Porter  had  told 
some  exaggerated  stories,  Butler  arose  in  a  very  dig- 
nified manner  and  said  : 

"Speaking  of  liars,  Mr.  Depew,  I   have  the  honor  of 


1 66  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

knowing  three  of  the  greatest  liars,  the  greatest  living 
liars,  in  this  world." 

"Who  are  they?"  asked  the  venerable  Sam  Ward, 
as  he  dropped  a  chicken  partridge  to  listen  to  the 
general. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  general,  as  he  scratched  his 
head  thoughtfully,  "Mark  Twain  is  one,  and  Eli 
Perkins  is  the  other  two!" 

I  forgave  General  Butler  for  that  story  on  account 
of  the  good  story  he  told  on  the  city  of  Philadelphia. 
This  story  has  been  attributed  to  a  dozen  different 
people,  but  Butler  was  the  man  who  told  it.  "Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes,"  says  Butler,  "  happened  to  be  seated 
next  to  George  W.  Childs  at  a  Boston  dinner. 

'"Speaking  of  Boston,'  said  Ben,  'she  is  a  fine  city, 
isn't  she?' 

"  'Yes,  Boston  is  a  very  compact  and  substantial 
city,'  said  Mr.  Childs;  'but  she  is  not  so  well  laid  out 
as  Philadelphia.' 

"'No,'  said  Ben,  with  his  eyes  more  on  a  bias  than 
usual,  'Boston  is  not  so  well  laid  out  as  Philadelphia, 
I  admit  that ;  but  she  will  be  when  she  is  as  dead  as 
Philadelphia.'  " 

The  staid  New  York  Tribune  came  near  jumping 
over  into  the  realms  of  wit  and  repartee  when  it 
published  this  paragraph: 

Eli  Perkins,  who  is  a  vestryman  in  an  uptown  church,  in  the  ab- 
sence of  a  Sunday-school  teacher,  kindly  offered  to  take  her  class 
in  the  Sabbath-school.  After  teaching  the  class  four  weeks  Mr. 
Perkins  was  presented  with  a  Bible  by  his  class.  People  can  draw 
their  own  inferences. 

A  bright,  though  not  very  orthodox  bit  of  repartee 
was  made  by  Sam  Jones  to   Elder  Smitzer,  who  was 


I-.l  1  EXPLAINS  REPARTEE.  l67 

lecturing     Sam     for    the     sin    of     chewing    tobacco. 
"Brother  Jones,"  exclaimed  Brother  Smitzer,  without 

stopping  to  ask  any  other  question,  "is  it  possible  that 
you  chew  tobacco?" 

"I  must  confess  1  do,"  quietly  replied  Mr.  Jones. 

"Then  I  would  quit  it,  sir,"  energetically  continued 
Brother  Smitzer.  "It  is  a  very  unclerical  practice, 
and  I  must  say  a  very  uncleanly  one.  Tobacco  !  Why, 
sir,  even  a  hog  would  not  chew  it." 

"Brother  Smitzer,"  responded  his  amused  listener, 
"do  you  chew  tobacco?" 

"I?  No,  sir!"  he  answered  gruffly,  with  much 
indignation. 

"Then,  pray,  my  dear  brother,"  said  Sam,  "which  is 
most  like  the  hog,  you  or  I?" 

"If  your  habits  were  as  good  as  your  logic,  Sam 
Jones,"  said  Brother  Smitzer,  smiling,  "you  would  be 
saved  in  spite  of  your  bad  taste." 


ARTEMUS  WARD. 


The  Father  of  American  Humor — Personal  Reminiscences — Where  Eli 
Perkins  got  his  nom  de  plume — From  the  Maine  Farm  to  Kensal 
Green — His  original  MSS.  left  to  the  Writer. 

I  FIRST  met  Artemus  Ward  in  Memphis,  in  the 
spring  of  1865.  He  had  just  returned  from  his 
overland  stage  trip  from  California,  and  was  making  a 
lecture  tour  of  the  States.  I  little  thought  then  that  I 
should  be  called  upon  in  1876,  by  Geo.  W.  Carleton,  to 
write  his  biography  and  edit  a  complete  edition  of  his 
works.* 

On  that  occasion  the  humorist  accompanied  me  to  my 
plantation  at  Lake  Providence,  La.,  where  I  had  1700 
acres  of  cotton.  I  had  previously  been  on  General  A. 
L.  Chetlain's  staff  in  Memphis. 

The  negroes  were  a  perpetual  delight  to  Artemus; 
and  they  used  to  stand  around  him  with  staring  eyes, 
and  mouths  wide  open,  listening  to  his  seemingly  serious 
advice. 

I  could  not  prevail  upon  him  to  hunt  or  to  join  in  any 
of  the  equestrian  amusements  with  the  neighboring 
planters,  but  a  quiet  fascination  drew  him  to  the  ne- 
groes. Strolling  through  the  "quarters,"  his  grave 
words,  too  deep  with  humor  for  darky  comprehension, 
gained  their  entire  confidence. 

*  The  Complete  Works  of  Artemus  Ward  (four  volumes  in. one),  with 
his  Mormon  Lecture,  and  Biography  by  Eli  Perkins.  G.  W.  Carleton, 
New  York  ;  and  Chatto  &  Windus,  London. 

168 


ARTEMIS   WARD.  169 

One  day  he  called  upon  Uncle  Jeff,  an  Uncle-Tom- 
like patriarch,  and  commenced  in  his  usual  vein  : 

"Now,  Uncle  Jefferson,"  he  said,  "why  do  you  thus 
pursue  the  habits  of  industry?  This  course  of  life  is 
wrong — all  wrong — all  a  base  habit,  Uncle  Jefferson. 
Now,  try  and  break  it  off.  Look  at  me — look  at  Mr. 
Landon,  the  chivalric  young  Southern  plantist  from 
New  York;  he  toils  not,  neither  does  he  spin;  he  pur- 
sues a  career  of  contented  idleness.  If  you  only 
•thought  so,  Jefferson,  you  could  live  for  months  with- 
out performing  any  kind  of  labor,  and  at  the  expiration 
of  that  time  feel  fresh  and  vigorous  enough  to  com- 
mence it  again.  Idleness  refreshes  the  physical  organi- 
zation— it  is  a  sweet  boon.  Strike  at  the  roots  of  the 
destroying  habit  to-day,  Jefferson.  It  tires  you  out ;  re- 
solve to  be  idle;  no  one  should  labor;  he  should  hire 
others  to  do  it  for  him."  And  then  he  would  fix  his 
mournful  eyes  on  Jeff  and  hand  him  a  dollar,  while  the 
eyes  of  the  wonder-struck  darky  would  gaze  in  mute 
admiration  upon  the  good  and  wise  originator  of  the 
only  theory  which  the  darky  mind  could  appreciate. 

As  Jeff  went  away  to  tell  the  wonderful  story  to 
his  companions,  and  backed  it  with  the  dollar  as  ma- 
terial proof,  Artemus  would  cover  his  eyes,  and  bend 
forward  on  his  elbows  in  a  chuckling  laugh. 

One  of  the  queerest  sights  was  to  see  his  trunks 
spread  along  the  hall  outside  of  his  room.  Each  trunk- 
was  fully  labeled.  One  would  be  labeled,  "A.  Ward, 
his  store  close";  and  another,  "A.  Ward,  his  Sunday 
suit. 

One  evening  I  asked  him  to  tell  me  about  his  child, 
hood  up  in  Maine,  and  he  said  : 

"I  was  born  up  at  Waterford,  but  afterward  moved 


17°         ELI  RERA'I.YS- THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

to  Skowhegan.  My  father's  name  was  Levi,  and  my 
mother's  name  was  Caroline.  I  had  four  uncles  in 
Waterford  :  Daniel,  Mallory,  Jabez,and  Thaddeus." 

"Were  you  Puritans?"   I  asked. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "father's  name  was  Levi,  and  we  had 
a  Moses  and  a  Nathan  in  the  family,  so  I  think  we  must 
have  come  from  Jerusalem.  But,"  he  continued 
thoughtfully,  "my  brother's  name  was  Cyrus,  and  per- 
haps that  made  us  Persians." 

I  had  many  practical  ideas  about  the  plantation,  and 
Artemus  was  constantly  saying,  during  the  visit : 

'You  are  a  regular  Eli  Perkins  kind  of  a  man — you 
are.     I  think  I'll  call  you  Eli." 

An  Eli  Perkins  kind  of  a  man  with  Ward  was  some 
one  with  dry  philosophical  ideas,  original  and  startling. 
After  this  he  never  addressed  me  by  any  other  name. 
The  name  Eli  Perkins  seemed  to  give  him  infinite  amuse- 
ment, and  at  Natchez  and  New  Orleans  it  was  a  never 
ending  source  of  pleasure,  when  the  crowd  called  upon 
him,  to  turn  around,  smile,  and  say: 

"Allow  me  to  introduce  Mr.  Eli  Perkins,  the  chivalric 
young  Southern  plantist  from — from  New  York." 

When  I  parted  with  Artemus  at  New  Orleans  he 
came  to  the  gang-plank,  smiled,  and  said  loudly  : 

"You  know  so  much  about  farming,  Eli,  that  I'm 
going  to  make  you  manager  of  my  plantation  up  in 
Maine." 

And  sure  enough,  he  wrote  this  letter  a  month  or  so 
afterward,  which  appears  in  most  of  his  books,  and 
which  caused  me  to  take  the  name  "Eli  Perkins"  as  a 
nom  dc  plume  in  1 871,  when  I  wrote  my  first  book, 
"Saratoga  in  1901." 


ARTEMUS  WARD.  171 

This  was  Ward's  letter: 

New  York,  June  12.  1865. 
To  the  Farmers'  Club,  Cooper  Institute. 
Gentlemen:    I   have  been  an  honest  farmer  for  some  four 

years.  My  farm  is  in  the  interior  of  Maine.  Unfortunately  my 
lands  are  eleven  miles  from  the  railroad.     Eleven  mill  s  is  quite  a 

distance  to  haul  immense  quantities  of  wheat,  corn,  r\e,  and  oats  ; 
but  as  I  haven't  any  to  haul,  I  do  not,  after  all,  suffer  much  on  that 
account. 

Two  years  ago  I  tried  sheep-raising. 

I  bought  fifty  lambs,  and  turned  them  loose  on  my  broad  and 
beautiful  acres. 

It  was  pleasant  on  bright  mornings,  after  coming  back  from  a 
lecturing  tour,  to  stroll  leisurely  out  on  to  the  farm  in  my  dressing- 
gown,  with  a  cigar  in  my  mouth,  and  watch  these  innocent  little- 
lambs  as  they  danced  gayly  o'er  the  hillside. 

One  clay  my  gentle  shepherd,  Mr.  Eli  Perkins,  said,  "  We  must 
have  some  shepherd  dogs." 

I  had  no  very  precise  idea  as  to  what  shepherd  dogs  were,  but  I 
assumed  a  rather  profound  look,  and  said  : 

•'  We  must,  Eli.     I  spoke  to  you  about  this  some  time  ago." 

I  wrote  to  Boston  for  two  shepherd  dogs,  and  the  dogs  came 
forthwith.  They  were  splendid  creatures— snuff  -colored,  hazel- 
eyed,  long-tailed,  and  shapely  jawed. 

We  led  them  proudly  to  the  fields. 

"  Turn  them  in,  Eli,"  1  said. 

Eli  turned  them  in. 

They  went  in  at  once,  and  killed  twenty  of  my  best  lambs  in 
about  four  minutes  and  a  half. 

My  friend  had  made  a  trifling  mistake  in  the  breed  of  these 
dogs. 

Eli  Perkins  was  astonished,  and  observed  : 

•■  Waal  !  did  you  ever?" 

I  certainly  never  had. 

There  were  pools  of  blood  on  the  green  sward,  and  fragments  of 
wool  and  raw  lamb  chops  lay  round  in  confused  heaps. 

The  dogs  would  have  been  sent  to  Boston  that  night,  had  they 


172         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OE  WIT. 

not  rather  suddenly  died  that  afternoon  of  a  throat-distemper.  It 
wasn't  a  swelling  of  the  throat.  It  wasn't  diphtheria.  It  was  a 
violent  opening  of  the  throat,  extending  from  ear  to  ear. 

Thus   closed   their  life   stories.     Thus    ended    their   interesting 
tails. 

I  failed  as  a  raiser  of  lambs.     As  a  sheepist  I  was  not  a  success. 
Last  summer  Mr.  Perkins  said,  "  I  think  we'd   better  cut  some 
grass  this  season,  sir." 
We  cut  some  grass. 

To  me  the  new  mown  hay  is  very  sweet  and  nice.     New  mown 
hay  is  a  really  fine  thing.     It  is  good  for  man  and  beast. 

We  hired  four  honest  farmers  to  assist  us,  and  I  led  them  gayly 
to  the  meadows. 

1  was  going  to  mow,  myself. 

I  saw  the  sturdy  peasants  go  round  once  ere  I  dipped  my  flash- 
ing scythe  into  the  tall,  green  grass. 
"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  said  E.  Perkins. 
"  I  am  here  !  " 
"  Then  follow  us  !  " 
I  followed  them. 

Followed  them  rather  too  closely,  evidently,  for  a  white-haired 
old  man,  who  immediately  followed  Mr.  Perkins,  called  upon  us  to 
halt.  Then,  in  a  low,  firm  voice,  he  said  to  his  son,  who  was  just 
ahead  of  me,  "  John,  change  places  with  me.  I  hain't  got  long  to 
live,  anyhow.  Yonder  berryin'  ground  will  soon  have  these  old 
bones,  and  it's  no  matter  whether  I'm  carried  there  with  one  leg 
off  and  ter'ble  gashes  in  the  other  or  not !  But  you,  John— you 
are  young." 

The  old  man  changed  places  with  his  son.  A  smile  of  calm 
resignation  lit  up  his  wrinkled  face,  as  he  said,  "  Now,  sir,  I  am 
ready  !  " 

"  What  mean  you,  old  man  ?  "  I  said. 

"  I  mean  that  if  you  continue  to  bran'ish  that  blade  as  you  have 

been  bran'ishin'   it,  you'll   slash   h out  of  some  of  us  before 

we're  a  hour  older  !  " 

There  was  some  reason  mingled  with  this  white-haired  old 
peasant's  profanity.  It  was  true  that  I  had  twice  escaped  mowing 
off  his  son's  legs,  and  his  father  was,  perhaps,  naturally  alarmed. 


ARTEMUS  WARD.  173 

I  went  and  sat  down  under  a  tree.  "  I  never  know'd  a  literary 
man  in  my  life,"  I  overheard  the  old  man  say,  "  that  know'd  any- 
thing." 

Mr.  Perkins  was  not  as  valuable  to  me  this  season  as  I  had  fan- 
cied he  might  be.  Every  afternoon  he  disappeared  from  the  field 
regularly,  and  remained  about  some  two  hours.  He  said  it  was 
headache.  He  inherited  it  from  his  mother.  His  mother  was 
often  taken  in  that  way.  and  suffered  a  great  deal. 

At  the  end  of  the  two  hours,  Mr.  Perkins  would  reappear  with 
his  head  neatly  done  up  in  a  large  wet  rag  and  say  he  "  felt 
better." 

One  afternoon  it  so  happened  that  I  soon  followed  the  invalid  to 
the  house,  and  as  I  neared  the  porch  I  heard  a  female  voice  ener- 
getically observe,  "  You  stop  !  "  It  was  the  voice  of  the  hired  girl, 
and  she  added.  "  I'll  holler  for  Mr.  Brown  !" 

"  Oh,  no,  Nancy  !  "  I  heard  the  invalid  E.  Perkins  soothingly 
say,  "  Mr.  Brown  knows  I  love  you.     Mr.  Brown  approves  of  it  !  " 

This  was  pleasant  for  Mr.  Brown  ! 

I  peered  cautiously  through  the  kitchen  blinds,  and,  however 
unnatural  it  may  appear,  the  lips  of  Eli  Perkins  and  my  hired  girl 
were  very  near  together.  She  said,  "  You  shan't  do  so,"  and  he 
do-soed.  She  also  said  she  would  get  right  up  and  go  away  and, 
as  an  evidence  that  she  was  thoroughly  in  earnest  about  it,  she  re- 
mained where  she  was. 

They  are  married  now,  and  Mr.  Perkins  is  troubled  no  more 
with  the  headache. 

This  year  we  are  planting  corn.  Mr.  Perkins  writes  me  that 
''on  accounts  of  no  skare  krows  bein' put  up  krows  cum  and 
digged  fust  crop  up  but  soon  got  nother  in.  Old  Bisbee,  who  was 
frade  youd  cut  his  sons  leggs  of,  Ses  you  bet  go  and  stan  up  in 
feeld  yrself  with  dressin  gownd  on  &  gesses  krows  will  keep  way. 
this  made  Boys  in  store  larf.  no  More  terday  from  Yours 
respecful,  Eli  Perkins." 

P.  S. — Eli  has  done  better  since  he  got  married. 

Artemus  Ward. 

After  Artemus  died  in  London  in  1867,  I  visited  his 
grave  in  Waterford  and  talked  with  his  mother,  who  af- 


174         ELI   PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

terward  wrote  me  several  letters.  I  learned  in  Water- 
ford  that  Artemus  was  full  of  fun  when  a  boy.  His 
mother,  from  whom  the  writer  received  several  letters, 
told  me  that  Artemus  was  out  very  late  one  night  at  a 
spelling-bee,  and  came  home  in  a  driving  snowstorm. 

"We  had  all  retired,"  said  Mrs.  Browne,  "and  Arte- 
mus went  around  the  house  and  threw  snow-balls  at  his 
brother  Cyrus's  window,  shouting  for  him  to  come  down 
quickly.  Cyrus  appeared  in  haste,  and  stood  shivering 
in  his  night-clothes. 

"  'Why   don't   you    come    in,   Charles?     The   door   is 
open.' 

"  'Oh,'  replied  Artemus,  'I  could  have  gotten  in  all 
right,  Cyrus;  but  I  called  you  down  because  I  wanted 
to  ask  you  if  you  really  think  it  is  wrong  to  keep 
slaves.'  " 

Charles  received  his  education  at  the  Waterford 
school,  until  family  circumstances  induced  his  parents 
to  apprentice  him  to  learn  the  rudiments  of  printing  in 
the  office  of  the  Skowhegan  Clarion,  published  some 
miles  to  the  north  of  his  native  village.  Here  he 
passed  through  the  dreadful  ordeal  to  which  a  printer's 
"devil"  is  generally  subjected.  He  always  kept  his 
temper;  and  his  amusing  jokes  are  even  now  related  by 
the  residents  of  Skowhegan. 

In  the  spring,  after  his  fifteenth  birthday,  Charles 
Browne  bade  farewell  to  the  Skowhegan  Clarion  ;  and 
we  next  hear  of  him  in  the  office  of  the  Carpet-Bag, 
edited  by  B.  P.  Shillaber  ("Mrs.  Partington"). 

In  these  early  years  young  Browne  used  to  "set  up" 
articles  from  the  pens  of  Charles  G.  Halpine  ("Miles 
O'Reilly")  and  John  G.  Saxe,  the  poet.  Here  he  wrote 
his  first  contribution  in  a  disguised  hand,  slyly  put  it  into 


ARTEMUS   WARD.  175 

the  editorial  box,  and  the  next  day  enjoyed  the  pleasure 
of  setting  it  up  himself.  The  article  was  a  description 
of  a  Fourth  of  July  celebration  in  Skowhegan.  The 
spectacle  of  the  day  was  a  representation  of  the  battle 
of  Yorktown,  with  George  Washington  and  General 
Cornuallis  in  character.  The  article  pleased  Mr.  Shil- 
laber,  and  Mr.  Browne,  afterward  speaking  of  it,  said: 
"I  went  to  the  theater  that  evening,  had  a  good  time 
of  it,  and  thought  I  was  the  greatest  man  in  Bos- 
ton. 

While  engaged  on  the  Carpet-Bag,  Artemus  closely 
studied  the  theater  and  courted  the  society  of  actors 
and  actresses.  It  was  in  this  way  that  he  gained  that 
correct  and  valuable  knowledge  of  the  texts  and  charac- 
ters of  the  drama  which  enabled  him  in  after  years  to 
burlesque  them  so  successfully.  The  humorous  writ- 
ings of  Seba  Smith  were  his  models,  and  the  oddities  of 
"John  Phcenix"  were  his  especial  admiration  : 

After  leaving  Boston,  Artemus  became  a  reporter  and 
compositor  in  Tiffin,  O.,  at  four  dollars  a  week.  From 
there  he  went  into  the  Toledo  Commercial,  and  in  1858, 
when  he  was  twenty-four  years  of  age,  Mr.  J.  W.  Gray, 
of  the  Cleveland  Plaiiulealer,  secured  him  as  local  re- 
porter, at  a  salary  of  twelve  dollars  per  week.  Here 
his  reputation  first  began  to  assume  a  national  charac- 
ter, and  it  was  here  that  they  called  him  a  "fool"  when 
he  mentioned  the  idea  of  taking  the  field  as  a  lecturer. 
Speaking  of  this  circumstance,  while  traveling  down  the 
Mississippi  with  the  writer  in  1865,  Mr.  Browne  mus- 
ingly repeated  this  colloquy : 

Wise  Man.     "Ah!  you   poor,  foolish  little  girl— here 
is  a  dollar  for  you." 

Foolish  Little  Girl.     "Thank  you,  sir,  but   I  have  a 


176  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OE  WIT. 

sister  at  home  as  foolish  as  I  am  ;  can't  you  give  me  a 
dollar  for  her?" 

In  i860  the  humorist  became  the  editor  of  Vanity 
Fair  in  New  York,  succeeding  Charles  G.  Leland. 

Speaking  of  his  experience  on  Vanity  Fair,  Artemus 
said  : 

"Comic  copy  is  what  they  wanted  for  Vanity  Fair  ; 
I  wrote  some  and  it  killed  it.  The  poor  paper  got  to 
be  a  conundrum  and  so  I  gave  it  up." 

After  lecturing  in  Clinton  Hall,  December  23,  1862, 
Ward  went  to  California  to  lecture.  His  lecture  on 
"Babes  in  the  Woods,"  took  the  Californians  by  storm. 
It  consisted  of  a  wandering  batch  of  comicalities,  touch- 
ing upon  everything  except  the  "Babes."  Indeed,  it 
was  better  described  by  the  lecturer  in  London,  when 
he  said,  "One  of  the  features  of  my  entertainment  is, 
that  it  contains  so  many  things  that  don't  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it." 

In  the  middle  of  his  lecture,  the  speaker  would  hesi- 
tate, stop,  and  say:  "Owing  to  a  slight  indisposition, 
we  will  now  have  an  intermission  of  fifteen  minutes." 
The  audience  looked  in  utter  dismay  at  the  idea  of 
staring  at  vacancy  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  when,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  the  lecturer  would  continue:  "But, 
ah— during  the  intermission  I  will  go  on  with  my  lee- 
ture! 

On  returning  from  California  on  the  overland  stage, 
Artemus  lectured  in  Salt  Lake  City.  He  took  a  deep 
interest  in  Brigham  Young  and  the  Mormons.  The 
Prophet  attended  his  lecture.  When  the  writer  lec- 
tured in  the  Mormon  theater  fifteen  years  afterward, 
Brigham  Young  was  present.  The  next  day  my  wife 
and  I  were  entertained  at  the  Lion  House,  the  home  of 


ARTEMUS  WARD.  177 

the  Prophet,  when  he  and  Hiram  Clausen  gave  me 
many  reminiscences  of  Artemus  Ward's  visit. 

When  I  wrote  the  humorist's  biography,  Mr.  Carle- 
ton  gave  me  a  trunk  full  of  his  old  MSS.,  which  I  have 
been  looking  over  to-day.*  Before  me  is  this  sketch  oi 
Brigham  Young  in  Artemus  Ward's  handwriting,  it 
was  written  in  [862,  while  the  war  of  the  Rebellion  was 
going  on  ;  but  after  Joe  Johnson's  campaign  against  the 
Mormons.  Any  journalist  will  see,  by  his  correct  punc- 
tuation, that  he  was  a  man  of  culture.  This  litho- 
graphed sketch  shows  his  character.  It  proves  that  he 
was  once  a  type-setter.  It  is  the  best  index  to  the  cul- 
ture and  technical  knowledge  of  the  humorist  that 
could  be  given  : 

The  reader  will  see  by  Mr.  Ward's  diary  that  the 
Mormons  were  jealous  of  the  national  troops  encamped 
at  Salt  Lake. 

*A  package  of  these  Ward  sketches,  with  autograph  letters 
from  President  Harrison,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  Lowell,  Whittier, 
Holmes,  Geo.  W.  Curtis,  Cable,  Talmage,  Depew,  General  Sher- 
man, Cardinal  Gibbons,  and  forty  oihers  were  stolen  from  the  Sixth 
Avenue  elevated  train  after  this  was  written.  It  is  hoped  that 
autograph  collectors  into  whose  hands  they  will  come  will  com- 
municate with  Mr.  Landon. 


178         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

4-  f/l^x^'s.   /^~w^-     ^L^Ct^Z  **^-*» 

t^j&z-       L***"        71*^*!    /  /^S,  ** 

/f  /L.  ^2H?^t   A^Lt     fao- 


ARTEMUS  WARD.  *79 

l£j,     sA^yC^  A-  ^^  ^  *? 


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I  So         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 


A<? 


ARTEMUS  WARD.  181 

On  his  return  from  California  Artcmus  wrote  his  lec- 
ture on  the  Mormons  and  delivered  it  throughout  New 
England  for  one  hundred  nights,  the  trip  netting  him 
$8000. 

His  life  in  America  was  a  constant  round  of  jolly 
revelry.  His  friends  persecuted  him  with  adoration 
and  kindness.  Wherever  he  lectured  there  was  sure  to 
be  a  knot  of  young  fellows  to  gather  around  him,  go 
home  to  his  hotel,  and  spend  the  night  in  telling  stories, 
drinking,  and  singing  songs.  Five  years  of  such  life 
made  the  humorist  almost  a  physical  wreck. 

In  the  spring  of  1866,  Charles  Browne  first  timidly 
thought  of  going  to  Europe.  Turning  to  Mr.  Hing- 
ston  one  day,  he  asked:  "What  sort  of  a  man  is  Al- 
bert Smith?  Do  you  think  the  Mormons  would  be  as 
good  a  subject  to  the  Londoners  as  Mont  Blanc  was?" 
Then  he  said  :  "I  should  like  to  goto  London  and 
give  my  lecture  in  the  same  place.     Can't  it  be  done?" 

Well,  he  went  to  London,  and  became  a  lion  at  once. 

Scholars,  wits,  poets,  and  novelists  came  to  him  with 
extended  hands,  and  his  stay  in  London  was  one  ova- 
tion to  the  genius  of  American  wit.  Charles  Reade,  the 
novelist,  was  his  warm  friend  and  enthusiastic  admirer; 
and  Mr.  Andrew  Halliday  introduced  him  to  the  "Lit- 
erary Club,"  where  he  became  a  great  favorite.  Mark 
Lemon  came  to  him  and  asked  him  to  become  a  con- 
tributor to  Punch,  which  he  did.  I  lis  Punch  letters 
were  more  remarked  in  literary  circles  than  any  other 
current  matter.  There  was  hardly  a  club  meeting  or 
a  dinner  at  which  they  were  not  discussed.  "There 
was  something  so  grotesque  in  the  idea,"  said  a  corre- 
spondent, "of  this  ruthless  Yankee  poking  among  the  re- 
vered antiquities  of  Britain,  that  the  beef-eating  British 


1 82  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

themselves  could  not  restrain  their  laughter."  The 
story  of  his  Uncle  William,  who  "followed  commercial 
pursuits,  glorious  commerce — and  sold  soap !"  and  his 
letters  on  the  Tower  and  "Chowser,"  were  palpable 
hits,  and  it  was  admitted  that  Punch  had  contained 
nothing  better  since  the  days  of  "Yellowplush."  This 
opinion  was  shared  by  the  Times,  the  literary  reviews, 
and  the  gayest  leaders  of  society.  The  publishers  of 
Punch  posted  up  his  name  in  large  letters  over  their 
shop  in  Fleet  Street,  and  Artemus  delighted  to  point 
it  out  to  his  friends.  About  this  time  Mr.  Browne 
wrote  to  his  friend,  Jack  Rider,  of  Cleveland: 

This  is  the  proudest  moment  of  my  life.  To  have  been  as  well 
appreciated  here  as  at  home,  to  have  written  for  the  oldest  comic 
journal  in  the  English  language,  received  mention  with  Hood,  with 
Jerrold  and  Hook,  and  to  have  my  picture  and  my  pseudonym  as 
common  in  London  as  New  York,  is  enough  for 

Yours  truly, 

A.  Ward. 

Mr.  Browne's  first  London  lecture,  on  the  Mormons, 
occurred  in  Egyptian  Hall,  November  13,  1866.  It  set 
England  on  fire.  Crowds  were  turned  away,  but  sick- 
ness came  and  his  brilliant  life  soon  ended.  On  Friday, 
the  sixth  week  of  his  engagement,  he  broke  down,  the 
disappointed  audience  went  away  mournfully,  and  Mr. 
Browne's  friends  took  him  to  the  Isle  of  Jersey.  Jer- 
sey doing  him  no  good,  he  returned  to  London,  died, 
and  his  remains  were  taken  to  Kensal  Green  from  the 
rooms  of  Arthur  Sketchley,  Rev.  M.  D.  Conway  preach- 
ing his  funeral  sermon.  The  humorist  was  removed 
from  Kensal  Green  by  his  American  friends,  and  his 
body  now  sleeps  by  the  side  of  his  father,  Levi  Browne, 


ARTEMUS  WARD. 


in  the  quiet  cemetery  at  Waterford,  Me. 
coffin  is  the  simple  inscription  : 


183 
Upon    the 


CHARLES   F.    BROWNE, 
Aged  32   Years. 

Better  known  to  the  World  as 
"  Artemis  Ward." 


I  can  say  from  personal  knowledge,  and  E.  P.  Hing- 
ston,  Richard  H.  Stoddard,  and  T.  W.  Robertson  will 
agree  with  me,  that  Charles  Farrar  Browne  was  one  of 
the  kindest  and  most  affectionate  of  men,  and  history 
does  not  name  a  man  who  was  so  universally  beloved 
by  all  who  knew  him.  It  was  remarked,  and  truly,  that 
the  death  of  no  literary  character  since  Washington 
Irving  caused  such  general  and  widespread  regret. 

In  stature  he  was  tall  and  slender.  His  nose  was 
prominent — outlined  like  that  of  Sir  Charles  Napier, 
or  Mr.  Seward ;  his  eyes  brilliant,  small,  and  close 
together;  his  mouth  large,  teeth  white  and  pearly;  fin- 
gers long  and  slender;  hair  soft,  straight,  and  blond; 
complexion  florid;  mustache  large,  and  his  voice  soft 
and  clear.  In  bearing,  he  moved  like  a  natural  born 
gentleman.  In  his  lectures  he  never  smiled — not  even 
while  he  was  giving  utterance  to  the  most  delicious  ab- 
surdities; but  all  the  while  the  jokes  fell  from  his  lips 
as  if  he  were  unconscious  of  their  meaning.  While 
writing  his  lectures,  he  would  laugh  and  chuckle  to  him- 
self continually. 

There  was  one  peculiarity  about  Charles  Browne — 
he  never  made  an  enemy.  Other  wits  in  other  times 
have  been  famous,  but  a  satirical  thrust  now  and  then 


1 84         ELI  PERKINS-THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

has  killed  a  friend.  Diogenes  was  the  wit  of  Greece, 
but  when,  after  holding  up  an  old  dried  fish  to  draw 
away  the  eyes  of  Anaximenes'  audience,  he  exclaimed, 
"See  how  an  old  fish  is  more  interesting  than  Anax- 
imenes," he  said  a  funny  thing,  but  he  stabbed  a  friend. 
When  Charles  Lamb,  in  answer  to  the  doting  mother's 
question  as  to  how  he  liked  babies,  replied,  "B-b-boiled, 
madam,  boiled !"  that  mother  loved  him  no  more ;  and 
when  John  Randolph  said  "thank  you!"  to  his  con- 
stituent, who  kindly  remarked  that  he  had  the  pleasure 
of  "passing"  his  house,  it  was  wit  at  the  expense  of 
friendship.  The  whole  English  school  of  wits,  with 
Douglas  Jerrold,  Hood,  Sheridan,  and  Sydney  Smith, 
indulged  in  repartee.  They  were  parasitic  wits.  And 
so  with  the  Irish,  except  that  an  Irishman  is  generally 
so  ridiculously  absurd  in  his  replies  as  to  excite  only 
ridicule.  "Artemus  Ward"  made  you  laugh  and  love 
him  too. 

The  wit  of  "Artemus  Ward"  and  "Josh  Billings"  is 
distinctively  American.  Lord  Karnes,  in  his  "Ele- 
ments of  Criticism,"  makes  no  mention  of  this  species 
of  wit,  a  lack  which  the  future  rhetorician  should  look 
to.  We  look  in  vain  for  it  in  the  English  language  of 
past  ages,  and  in  other  languages  of  modern  time.  It 
is  the  genus  American.  When  Artemus  says,  in  that 
serious  manner,  looking  admiringly  at  his  atrocious  pic- 
tures, "I  love  pictures — and  I  have  many  of  them — 
beautiful  photographs — of  myself,"  you  smile;  and 
when  he  continues,  "These  pictures  were  painted  by 
the  old  masters:  they  painted  these  pictures  and  then 
they — they  expired,"  you  hardly  know  what  it  is  that 
makes  you  laugh  outright ;  and  when  Josh  Billings  says 
in  his  proverbs,  wiser  than  Solomon's,  "You'd  better 


ARTEMUS  WARD.  185 

not  know  so  much  than  know  so  many  things  that  ain't 
so,"  the  same  vein  is  struck,  but  the  text-books  fail  to 
explain  scientifically  the  cause  of  our  mirth. 

The  wit  of  Charles  Browne  is  one  of  the  most  ex- 
alted kind.  It  is  only  scholars  and  those  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  subtlety  of  our  language  who  fully 
appreciate  it.  His  wit  is  generally  about  historical  per- 
sonages like  Cromwell,  Garrick,  or  Shakespeare,  or  a  bur- 
lesque on  different  styles  of  writing,  like  his  French 
novel,  when  "hifalutin"  phrases  of  tragedy  come  from 
the  clodhopper  who  "sells  soap,  and  thrice  refuses  a 
ducal  coronet." 

Mr.  Browne  mingled  the  eccentric  even  in  his  busi- 
ness letters.  Once  he  wrote  to  his  publisher,  Mr.  G. 
W.  Carleton,  who  had  made  some  alterations  in  his 
MSS. :  "The  next  book  I  write  I'm  going  to  get  you 
to  write."     Again  he  wrote  in  1863  : 

Dear  Carl  :  You  and  I  will  get  out  a  book  next  spring,  which 
will  knock  spots  out  of  all  comic  books  in  ancient  or  modern  his- 
tory. And  the  fact  that  you  are  going  to  take  hold  of  it  convinces 
me  that  you  have  one  of  the  most  massive  intellects  of  this  or  any 
other  epoch. 

Yours,  my  pretty  gazelle, 

A.  Ward. 

When  Charles  F.  Browne  died  he  did  not  belong  to 
America,  for,  as  with  Irving  and  Dickens,  the  English 
language  claimed  him.  Greece  alone  did  not  suffer 
when  the  current  of  Diogenes'  wit  flowed  on  to  death. 
Spain  alone  did  not  mourn  when  Cervantes,  dying,  left 
Don  Quixote  the  "knight  of  la  Mancha."  When 
Charles  Lamb  ceased  to  tune  the  great  heart  of  human- 
ity to  joy  and  gladness,  his  funeral  was  in  every  Eng- 


1 86  ELI  PERKINS-THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

lish  and  American  household,  and  when  Charles  Browne 
took  up  his  silent  resting-place  in  the  somber  shades  of 
Kensal  Green,  jesting  ceased,  and  one  great  Anglo- 
American  heart, 

Like  a  muffled  drum  went  beating 
Funeral  marches  to  his  grave. 


BILL  NYE  IN  LARAMIE. 


How  he  Introduced  Perkins  to  an  Audience— He  Interviews  an  English 
Joker — He  Writes  his  Biography  for  this  Book. 

I  SHALL  never  forget  my  first  lecture  in  Laramie, 
Wy.  It  was  in  1878.  It  was  then  that  Bill  Nye 
was  discovered.  I  discovered  him.  He  was  running 
his  little  newspaper  called  the  Boomerang,  and  was 
having  a  terrible  fight  with  an  editor  across  the  way. 
The  other  editor,  George  Sanders,  was  madly  jealous 
of  Nye.  He  would  write  ponderous  editorials  abusing 
Nye;  then  Nye  would  answer  with  a  quaint,  good- 
natured  paragraph,  making  fun  of  his  opponent,  which 
would  be  copied  into  a  thousand  newspapers.  This 
copying  of  Nye's  articles  made  Sanders  madder  than 
ever. 

"The  fact  of  it  is,"  said  Sanders,  "this  Nye  is  a  fool. 
His  stuff  is  all  twaddle.  Now  look  at  my  editorials," 
he  said,  as  he  pointed  proudly  to  a  double-leaded 
article  on  "Southern  Outrages,"  and  "Coming  Wars  in 
Europe."  'They  are  solid.  They  are  dignified.  You 
can  see  they  are  written  by  a  scholar.  Now  look  at 
Nye's  paper!  See  what  trash— and  still  they  all  copy 
him.  It  makes  me  sick.  Look  at  this,"  he  said,  hold- 
ing up  Nye's  paper,  and  pointing  to  a  paragraph  round 
which  he  had  drawn  a  lead-pencil  mark: 

"  Men  may  be  rough  on  the  exterior,  but  they  can  love,  oh,  so 
earnestly,  so  warmly,  so  truly,  so  deeply,  so  intensely,  so  yearn- 
ingly, so  fondly,  and  so  universally  ! 

187 


1 88         ELI  PERKINS-THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  silly?  And  here's 
another : 

••  '  What  becomes  of  our  bodies  ?  '  asks  a  soft-eyed  scientist,  and 
we  answer  in  stentorian  tones  that  they  get  inside  of  a  red  flannel 
undershirt  as  the  maple  turns  to  crimson  and  the  sassafras  to  gold. 
Ask  us  something  difficult,  ethereal  being. 

"And  this,"  continued  Sanders,  as  he  grew  red  in 
the  face,  "is  one  of  Nye's  mean  slurs  of  my  dignified 
editorial    on  'The  Growth  of  Empire': 

"  Dignity  does  not  draw.  It  answers  in  place  of  intellectual  tone 
for  twenty  minutes,  but  after  a  while  it  fails  to  get  there.  Dignity 
works  all  right  in  a  wooden  Indian  or  a  drum-major,  but  the  man 
who  desires  to  draw  a  salary  through  life,  and  to  be  sure  of  a  visi- 
ble means  of  support,  will  do  well  to  make  some  other  provision 
than  a  haughty  look  and  the  air  of  patronage." 

"That's  enough,"  I  said;  "that  settles  Nye.  We 
can  all  see  that  he  will  never  amount  to  anything." 

A  look  of  inexpressible  gratitude  settled  all  over 
Sanders'  face  as  I  said  this. 

That  night  Mr.  Nye  introduced  me  to  the  opera 
house  audience.  He  did  it  in  so  sweet  and  amiable  a 
manner  that  I  was  completely  won  over  and  regretted 
that  I  had  agreed  with  Sanders.  I  shall  never  forget 
the  modest  and  trembling  manner  in  which  Mr.  Nye 
faced  the  audience,  and  commenced  his  introduc- 
tion : 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  I  am  glad  that  it  has  devolved  upon 
me  to-night  to  announce  that  we  are  to  have  an  interesting  lecture 
on  lying  by  one  of  the  most  distinguished— 1—1— [There  was  a 
long  pause,  for  Mr.  Nye's  inflection  indicated  that  he  had  finished, 
and  the  audience  roared  with  delight,  so  that  it  was  some  time 
before  the  sentence  was  concluded]  lecturers  from  the  East. 


BILL  NYE  IN  LARAMIE.  189 

Mr.  Nye  continued: 

We  have  our  ordinary  country  liars  in  Laramie;  but  Mr.  Perkins 
comes  from  the  metropolis.  Our  everyday  liars  have  a  tine  record. 
We  are  proud  of  them.  But  the  uncultured  liars  of  the  prairie  can- 
not be  expected  to  cope  with  the  gifted  and  more  polished  prevar- 
icators from  the  cultured  East.  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  permit  me 
to  introduce  to  you  Kliar  Perkins. 

"Ladies  and  Gentlemen,"  I  said,  in  reply,  "I  feel 
justly  flattered  by  your  Laramie  humorist's  tribute  to 
my  veracity;  but  truly  I  am  not  as  great  a  liar  as  Mr. 

Nye '  and  then  I  seemed  to  falter.     The  audience 

saw  my  dilemma  and  applauded,  and  finally  I  couldn't 
finish  the  sentence  for  some  moments;  but  continuing, 
I  said,  "I  am  not  as  big  a  liar  as  Mr.  Nye  would  have 
you  think." 

A  day  or  two  after  this  I  picked  up  The  Boomcrcuig, 
and  read  this  paragraph  : 

When  Mr.  Perkins  was  passing  through  Laramie,  he  said  he  was 
traveling  for  his  wife's  pleasure. 

"  Then  your  wife  is  with  you  ?  "  suggested  a  Boomerang  re- 
porter. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Eli,  "  she  is  in  New  York." 

After  the  lecture  the  growing  humorist  confided  in 
me  and  told  me  the  story  of  his  life. 

"I  was  born,"  he  said,  "on  Moosehead  Lake,  Maine. 
We  moved  from  Moosehead  Lake  when  I  was  very 
young,  and  lived  in  the  West  among  the  rattlesnakes 
and  Indians  until  I  grew  up.  I  practiced  law  for 
about  a  year,  but,"  he  added,  without  changing  a 
muscle,  "nobody  knew  much  about  it;  I  kept  it  very 
quiet.  I  was  Justice  of  the  Peace,  in  Laramie,  for  six 
years." 


190         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Did  you  ever  marry  any  one?" 

"Oh,  yes;  I  married  my  wife,  and  after  that  I  used 
to  marry  others,  and  then  try  them  for  other  offenses." 

The  attention  of  the  public  was  first  called  to  the 
humorist's  writings  on  account  of  his  vigorous  English. 
His  language  was  of  the  Wild  West  order.  For  ex- 
ample :  Some  one  asked  the  editor  of  The  Boomerang 
the  question,  "What  is  literature?" 

"What  is  literature!"  exclaimed  Bill,  half  con- 
temptuously, pointing  to  the  columns  of  The  Boome- 
rang, "What  is  literature!  Cast  your  eye  over  these 
logic-imbued  columns,  you  sun-dried  savant  from  the 
remote  precincts.  Drink  at  the  never-failing  Boome- 
rang springs  of  forgotten  lore,  you  dropsical  wart  of  a 
false  and  erroneous  civilization.  Read  our  'Address  to 
Sitting  Bull,'  or  our 'Ode  to  the  Busted  Snoot  of  a 
Shattered  Venus  de  Milo,'  if  you  want  to  fill  up  your 
thirsty  soul  with  high-priced  literature.  Don't  go 
around  hungering  for  literary  pie  while  your  eyes  are 
closed  and  your  capacious  ears  are  filled  with  bales  of 
hay." 

I  asked  Mr.  Nye  that  night  about  his  politics. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  am  a  celluloid  Republican." 

"But  what  do  you  think  of  the  Democratic  party?" 

"The  Democratic  party?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  a 
Democrat  keeps  our  drug  store  over  there,  and  when  a 
little  girl  burned  her  arm  against  the  cook  stove,  and 
her  father  went  after  a  package  of  Russia  salve,  this 
genial  drug  store  Democrat  gave  her  a  box  of  'Rough 
on  Rats.'  What  the  Democratic  party  needs,"  said 
Mr.  Nye,  "is  not  so  much  a  new  platform,  as  a  car-load 
of  assorted  brains  that  some  female  seminary  had  left 
over." 


BILL  NYE  IN  LARAMIE.  10 1 

An  Englishman  came  into  my  room  just  then  and 
commenced  talking  with  Mr.  Nye  about  English  and 
American  humor. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Nye,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  think 
of  the  jokes  in  our  London  Punch  t  " 

'The  average  English  joke,"  said  Mr.  Nye,  who 
wished  to  be  polite,  "has  its  peculiarities.  A  sort  of 
mellow  distance.  A  kind  of  chastened  reluctance.  A 
coy  and  timid,  yet  trusting,  though  evanescent  in- 
tangibility, which  softly  lingers  in  the  untroubled  air, 
and  lulls  the  tired  senses  to  dreamy  rest,  like  the  sub- 
dued murmur  of  a  hoarse  jackass  about  nine  miles  up 
the  gulch." 

"Possibly;  possibly,"  said  the  Englishman. 
"He  must  be  a  hardened  wretch,  indeed,"  continued 
Mr.  Nye,  "who  has  not  felt  his  bosom  heave  and  the 
scalding  tear  steal  down  his  furrowed  cheek  after  he  has 
read  an  English  joke.  There  can  be  no  hope  for  the 
man  who  has  not  been  touched  by  the  gentle,  pleading, 
yet  all-potent,  sadness  embodied  in  the  humorous  para- 
graph of  the  true  Englishman." 

"In  my  opinion,"  said  the  Englishman  haughtily, 
'the  humor  of  the  United  States,  if  closely  examined, 
will  be  found  to  depend,  in  a  great  measure,  on  the  as- 
cendency which  the  principle  of  utility  has  gained  over 
the  imaginations  of  a  rather  imaginative  people." 

"Just  so,"  replied  Bill,  warming  up  to  the  issue, 
"just  so  ;  and,  according  to  my  best  knowledge,  the  hu- 
mor of  England,  if  closely  examined,  will  be  found  just 
about  ready  to  drop  over  the  picket  fence  into  the 
arena,  but  never  quite  making  connections.  If  we  scan 
the  English  literary  horizon,  we  will  find  the  humorist 
up  a  tall  tree,  depending  from  a  sharp  knot  thereof  by 


I92         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

the  slack  of  his  overalls.  He  is  just  out  of  sight  at  the 
time  you  look  in  that  direction.  He  always  has  a  man 
working  in  his  place,  however.  The  man  who  works  in 
his  place  is  just  paring  down  the  half  sole  and  newly 
pegging  a  joke  that  has  recently  been  sent  in  by  the 
foreman  for  repairs." 

"I  dare  say — I  dare  say  it  is  possibly  so,"  gasped  the 
Englishman. 

During  the  preparation  of  my  "Kings  of  Platform 
and  Pulpit,"  published  by  Belford  Clark  &  Co.,  Chicago, 
Mr.  Nye  kindly  sent  me  the  following  note,  which  gives 
the  true  history  of  his  family: 

Dear  Eli  :  You  ask  me  how  I  came  to  adopt  the  nom  de 
plume  of  Bill  Nye,  and  I  can  truthfully  reply  that  I  did  not  do  so 
at  all. 

My  first  work  was  done  on  a  Territorial  paper  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains  some  twelve  years  ago,  and  was  not  signed.  The 
style,  or  rather  the  lack  of  it,  provoked  some  comment  and  two  or 
three  personal  encounters.  Other  papers  began  to  wonder  who 
was  responsible,  and  various  names  were  assigned  by  them  as  the 
proper  one,  among  them  Henry  Nye,  James  Nye,  Robert  Nye,  etc., 
and  a  general  discussion  arose,  in  which  I  did  not  take  a  hand. 
The  result  was  a  compromise,  by  which  I  was  christened  Bill  Nye, 
and  the  name  has  clung  to  me. 

I  am  not  especially  proud  of  the  name,  for  it  conveys  the  idea  to 
strangers  that  I  am  a  lawless,  profane,  and  dangerous  man.  Peo- 
ple who  judge  me  by  the  brief  and  bloody  name  alone,  instinct- 
ively shudder  and  examine  their  firearms.  It  suggests  daring, 
debauchery,  and  defiance  to  the  law.  Little  children  are  called  in 
when  I  am  known  to  be  at  large,  and  a  day  of  fasting  is  announced 
by  the  governor  of  the  State.  Strangers  seek  to  entertain  me  by 
showing  me  the  choice  iniquities  of  their  town.  Eminent  crimi- 
nals ask  me  to  attend  their  execution  and  assist  them  in  accepting 
their  respective  dooms.  Amateur  criminals  ask  me  to  revise  their 
work  and  suggest  improvements. 

All  this  is  the  cruel  result  of  an  accident,  for  I  am  not  that  kind 


BILL  NYE  IN  LARAMIE.  f,  ; 

of  a  man.  Had  my  work  been  the  same,  done  over  the  signature 
of  "  Taxpayer  "  or  "  Vox  Populi"  how  different  might  have  been 
the  result  !  Seeking,  as  I  am,  in  my  poor,  weak  way,  to  make  folly 
appear  foolish,  and  to  make  men  better  by  speaking  disrespect- 
fully of  tluir  errors,  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  regarded,  even  by 
strangers,  as  a  tough  or  a  terror,  but  as  a  plain,  law-abiding 
American  citizen,  who  begs  leave  to  subscribe  himself, 
Yours  for  the  public  weal, 

Edoar   Wilson  Nye. 


CHILDREN'S  WIT  AND  WISDOM. 


They  Make  us  Laugh  and  Cry — Child  Theology — Ethel's  Funny 

Blunders. 

LITTLE  children  often  say  very  wise  things.  One 
night  Ethel's  mother  went  to  the  great  Charity 
Ball,  taking  her  maid  with  her  and  leaving  little  Ethel 
all  alone.     When  her  mother  returned  she  said : 

"Ethel,  did  you  say  your  prayers  last  night?" 

"Yes,  mamma,  I  said  'em  all  alone." 

"But  who  did  you  say  them  to,  Ethel,  when  your 
nurse  was  out  with  me?" 

"Well,  mamma,"  said  little  Ethel,  "when  I  went  to 
bed  I  looked  around  the  house  for  somebody  to  say  my 
prayers  to,  and  there  wasn't  nobody  in  the  house  to  say 
'em  to,  and  so  I  said  'em  to  God.     Did  I  did  wrong?" 

"No,  no,  no,  Ethel!"  and  then  tears  of  joy  almost 
came  to  her  mother's  eyes. 

Ethel  loved  her  dear  old  grandmother,  and  never  for- 
got her. 

One  day  in  the  country,  at  her  grandmother's,  she 
was  carrying  a  basket  of  eggs,  when  she  tumbled  down 
and  broke  them. 

"O  Ethel!"  cried  all  the  country  children,  "won't 
you  catch  it  when  your  mother  sees  those  broken  eggs. 
Won't  you,  though!" 

"No,  I  won't  tach  it,  either,"  said  Ethel.  "I  won't 
tach  it  at  all.     I'z  dot  a  dranmother!" 

194 


CHILDREN'S  WIT  AND  WISDOM.  195 

Ethel  used  to  make  a  good  many  blunders  that  made 
us  all  laugh.  She  couldn't  understand  why  we 
laughed,  but  when  she  grows  up  and  reads  this  book 
she  will  know.  When  some  little  girls  called  on  her 
one  day  she  was  quite  troubled. 

"Oh,  dear!"  she  said,  "I  do  have  so  many  cares. 
Nothing  but  trouble  all  the  time." 

"What  has  happened  now,  Ethel?"  asked  her  sym- 
pathetic playfellow. 

"Why,  yesterday  a  little  baby  sister  arrived,  and  papa 
is  on  a  journey.  Mamma  came  very  near  being  gone 
too.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  mamma 
hadn't  been  home  to  take  care  of  it !" 

Ethel  was  so  honest,  and  told  everything  she  thought 
so  naturally,  that  we  all  liked  to  question  her  just  to 
hear  her  answer.  She  used  to  play  sometimes  in  the 
Sabbath  school,  but  Uncle  Harry  Groesbeck  was  the 
superintendent,  and  he  loved  all  the  children  so  that 
he  couldn't  correct  them.  One  day,  however,  she  had 
been  very  quiet.  She  sat  up  prim  and  behaved  herself 
so  nicely  that,  after  the  recitation  was  over,  the  teacher 
remarked  : 

"Ethel,  my  dear,  you  were  a  very  good  little  girl  to- 
day." 

"Yes'm.  I  couldn't  help  being  dood.  I  dot  a  tif 
neck !" 

But  the  funniest  thing  was  when  she  went  to  her  first 
party,  and  one  of  the  little  Groesbeck  boys  kissed  her. 

"O  Ethel,  I'm  ashamed  to  think  you  should  let 
a  little  boy  kiss  you  !"  said  her  mother. 

"Well,  mamma,  I  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Ethel. 

"You  couldn't  help  it!"  exclaimed  her  mother. 

"No,  mamma,    Yon  see  Harry  and  I  were  dancing 


196         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY    YEARS  OF  WIT. 

the  polka.  Harry  had  to  stand  up  close  to  me,  and  all 
at  once  his  lip  slipped  and  the  tiss  happened." 

Many  things  that  are  plain  to  grown  people  are  very 
mysterious  to  children.  They  were  mysterious  to  old 
people  once.  Think  of  the  first  time  a  child  sees  a  tree 
in  blossom,  or  the  big  new  moon  come  up,  or  the  first 
gray  hair,  or  the  sweet  baby  in  the  coffin ! 

1  remember  the  first  time  Ethel  saw  a  gray-haired 
lady.  It  was  at  Saratoga.  She  toddled  up  to  the 
beautiful  Mrs.  Robert  Cutting,  whose  white  hair  was 
the  wonder  of  the  Springs,  and,  smoothing  her  little 
hand  cautiously  over  the  old  lady's  beautiful  silver 
tresses,  she  said : 

"Why,  ou  has  dot  such  funny  hair — ou  has."  Then, 
pausing  a  moment,  she  looked  up  and  inquired,  "What 
made  it  so  white?" 

"Oh,  the  frosts  of  many  winters  turned  it  white,  my 
little  girl,"  replied  the  old  lady. 

"Didn't  it  hurt  ou?"  asked  the  little  thing,  in  child- 
ish amazement. 

Oh,  the  puzzling  questions  of  these  children  ! 

"Papa,"  commenced  little  Ethel,  "does  the  sausage 
come  out  of  his  hole  on  Candlemas  Day  and  look  around 
for  its  shadow,  so  as  to  make  an  early  spring?  Ma 
says  it  does." 

"Why,  darling,  what  are  you  talking  about?"  I  asked, 
looking  up  from  my  writing.  "It's  the  ground  hog 
that  comes  out  of  its  hole,  not  the  sausage." 

"Well,  papa,"  said  Ethel,  opening  her  eyes,  "isn't 
sausage  ground  hog?" 

One  of  our  good  old  clergymen  asked  a  knotty  ques- 
tion of  the  Sabbath-school  class. 


CHILDREN'S   WIT  AND   WISDOM.  197 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked,  "to  bear  false  witness  against 
thy  neighbor?" 

"It's  telling  falsehoods  about  them,"  said  little 
Emma. 

"Partly  right,  and  partly  wrong,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"I  know,"  said  Ethel,  holding  her  little  hand  high  up 
in  the  air.  "It's  when  nobody  did  anything  and  some- 
body went  and  told  of  it,"  and  a  professor  of  theology 
couldn't  have  answered  it  more  correctly. 

And  how  deeply  in  earnest  some  children  will  get, 
and  what  imaginations  they  have! 

Little  Edna  Mapleson  came  to  see  Ethel  one  day 
and  I  heard  them  talking  up  in  the  little  playroom. 

"When  I  grow  up,"  said  Ethel,  with  a  dreamy,  imag- 
inative look,  "I'm  going  to  be  a  school  teacher." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  be  a  mamma  and  have  six  chil- 
dren," said  Edna. 

'Well,  when  they  come  to  school  to  me  I'm  going  to 
whip  'em,  whip  'em,  whip  'em"  (with  crescendo  into- 
nation). 

'You  mean  thing!"  exclaimed  Edna,  as  the  tears 
came  into  her  eyes,  "what  have  my  poor  children 
ever  done  to  you?" 

One  day  Ethel,  who  is  very  proud  of  her  voice,  said 
proudly : 

"Edna,  what  would  you  do  if  you  had  a  voice  like 
me.' 

"Well,"  said  Edna,  "I  'spose  I'd  have  to  put  up 
with  it !" 

Ethel,  like  all  little  girls,  likes  to  sit  up  late  nights. 
One  night  her  mother,  to  persuade  her,  used  a  little 
argument.     She  said  : 


19S  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"You  know,  Ethel,  the  little  chickens  always  go  to 
bed  at  sundown." 

"Yes,  I've  seen  them,  mamma;  and  the  old  hen,  their 
mother,  always  goes  with  them." 

I  remember  when  Ethel's  mother  took  her  to  the 
first  wedding.  The  little  child  was  very  observing. 
When  she  got  home  her  mother  said : 

"Now,  Ethel,  do  you  remember  all  about  the  cere- 
mony?" 

"Yes,  mamma." 

"Does  my  little  girl  remember  the  words?" 

"Yes,  every  word,  mamma." 

"And  what  did  the  preacher  say?" 

"He  said,  'Ye  have  now  entered  the  holy  band  of 
hemlock — no,  padlock — and  you  twine  are  now  one — 
one  fish.'  " 

"But,  mamma,"  she  asked  afterward,  "why  did  the 
preacher  talk  about  his  ears  so  much?" 

"Why  he  didn't  say  anything  about  his  ears,  Ethel." 

"Why,  yes,  mamma,  he  kept  saying,  'Oh,  my  hear- 
ers!'   Didn't  he  mean  his  ears?" 

But  oh,  the  love  of  the  sweet  innocent  children! 

It  was  a  sweet  love  saying,  and  worthy  of  Him  who 
took  little  children  up. 

Little  Philip  fell  downstairs  one  day  and  injured  his 
face  so  seriously  that  for  a  long  time  he  could  not 
speak.  When  he  did  open  his  lips,  however,  it  was  not 
to  complain  of  pain.  Looking  up  at  his  mother,  he 
whispered,  trying  to  smile  through  his  tears: 

"I'm  pretty  glad  'twasn't  my  little  sister!" 


THOSE  WICKED,  WICKED  BOYS! 


Their  First  Boots  and  First  Pockets— That  Naughty  Uncle  William- 
Grandma  Loves  them  and  Grandpa  makes  a  Fool  of  Himself. 

BOYS'  wit  and  blunder  are  so  different  from  girls'! 
Girls  are  sweet  and  confiding,  while  boys  are 
robust  and  sometimes  cruel  in  their  answers.  The  fact 
is,  boys  are  boys,  and  girls  are  girls.  Sometimes  I 
think  our  little  Johnnie,  Ethel's  brother,  is  positively 
wicked. 

One  evening  when  Johnnie  was  saying  his  prayers  he 
broke  out : 

"Oh,  I  do  so  wish  I  had  a  little  pug  dog!" 

"Had  a  what,  Johnnie?"  exclaimed  his  mother. 
'Why,  a  little  pug  dog,  mamma.     I  do  want  one  so 
much." 

"Why,  what  does  mamma's  darling  want  one  of 
those  ugly  brutes  for?  Why  could  you  want  it, 
Johnnie?" 

"I  want  it  because  I  know  where  I  could  sell  his  skin 
for  fifteen  dollars  to  a  dog-stuffer,  by  ginger!" 

Where  Johnnie  got  that  "by  ginger"  we  never  knew, 
but  after  his  mother  had  scolded  him  a  little  about 
using  such  words,  she  suggested  that  he  finish  his  even- 
ing prayer,  which  he  did,  praying: 

"Oh,  Lord,  bless  the  baby  and  make  him  so  he  can't 
cry.  Bless  brother  Bill  and  make  him  as  good  a  boy  as 
I  am.     Good-by,  Lord.     I'm  going  to  the  circus  in  the 

199 


200         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

morning.  Amen."  Then,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  some- 
thing, Charley  hollered  out:  "Oh,  Lord,  don't  forget 
Bill." 

The  boy  comes  out  the  strongest  in  the  youth  on  the 
possession  of  the  first  pair  of  boots  or  pants  with  big 
pockets  in  them.  It's  the  pockets  that  make  a  boy 
Jump  from  a  boy  to  a  man  in  an  hour.  When  Johnnie 
put  on  his  first  trousers  he  was  very  proud.  He  strutted 
up  and  down  in  front  of  his  mother  almost  crazy  with 
delight.     Then  he  burst  out : 

"Oh,  mamma,  pants  makes  me  feel  so  grand  !  Didn't 
it  make  you  feel  grand  when But  an  awful  con- 
sciousness came  over  him  that  this  bliss  had  never  been 
shared  by  his  mother,  and  he  laid  his  wee,  chubby  hand 
pityingly  against  her  cheek,  saying  pathetically  : 

"Poor  mamma!  poor  mamma!" 

The  question  is  often  asked  what  makes  our  dear  lit- 
tle baby  boy  so  rude?  I  can  answer  that  the  boy's 
uncle  is  generally  to  blame.  It  amuses  the  uncle  and 
he  does  not  think  that  he  is  really  spoiling  the 
boy. 

Now  our  little  Johnnie  was  especially  beloved  by  his 
Uncle  William.  Still  his  uncle  used  to  tease  him  a 
good  deal  and  teach  him  all  kinds  of  nonsense  rhymes 
just  to  plague  his  mother.  One  day  I  was  telling  the 
children  about  Satan.  I  told  them  that  Satan  was  a 
wicked  tempter  and  that  is  why  our  Saviour  said,  "Get 
thee  behind  me,  Satan." 

"Now,"  said  I,  "can  any  of  you  children  tell  me  any- 
thing about  Satan?" 

"Johnnie  can,"  said  Ethel. 

"Well,  Johnnie,"  I  said,  "you  can  stand  up  and  tell 
us  what  you  know  about  Satan." 


THOSE    WICKED,    WICKED  HOYS!  201 

Then  Johnnie  arose  proudly  and  repeated  in  a  boyish 

key  : 

Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 

I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep; 

If  I  die  before  I  wake, 

It'll  puzzle  Satan  to  pull  me  straight. 

"Why,  Johnnie,"  I  said  in  amazement,  "did  your 
mother  teach  you  that?" 

"No,  but  Uncle  William  did;  and  he  taught  me  'by 
ginger,'  too !" 

Oh,  this  wicked,  wicked  Uncle  William. 

Boys  are  usually  shrewder  than  girls.  They  will 
show  deep  diplomacy  in  order  to  gain  a  point.  One 
morning  Johnnie  climbed  up  into  his  grandmother's  lap 
and  showed  great  affection. 

"Gran'ma,"  he  said,  as  he  twined  his  arm  lovingly 
around  her  neck,  "how  old  are  you?" 

"About  sixty-six,"  said  the  grandmother. 

"You'll  die  soon,  won't  you,  gran'ma?" 

"Yes,  dear,  I  expect  to." 

"And  when  I  die,  gran'ma,  can  I  be  buried  'side  of 
you? 

'Yes,  dear,"  said  she,  as  her  heart  warmed  toward 
the  little  one,  whom  she  folded  closer  in  her  arms. 

"Gran'ma,"  softly  whispered  the  little  rogue,  "gimme 
ten  cents." 

One  day  Johnnie  was  sliding  down  the  banisters  and 
making  a  great  noise  in  the  hall  when  his  grandmother 
came  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  said  : 

"Boys,  boys!  I  wouldn't  slide  down  those  banisters 
— I  would  not  do  it." 

"Why,  gran'ma,  you  can't,"  said  little  Charley  dis- 
dainfully, as  he  picked  himself  up  from  the  hall  floor. 


202  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Yes,  Johnnie  is  a  sweet  child,  and  loved  his  mother, 
but  the  boy  in  him  was  always  breaking  out.  When 
his  mother  got  sick  he  came  and  stood  by  the  bed, 
his  great  big  eyes  all  full  of  tears,  and  said : 

"Oh,  dear  mamma,  I  hope  ou  won't  die  till  the  circus 
comes !" 

Johnnie's  sister  Ethel  had  been  cautioned  when  they 
went  up  to  their  grandmother  not  to  take  the  last  egg, 
the  nest  egg,  out  of  the  nest.  One  morning,  however, 
Ethel  got  it,  and  Johnnie  came  into  a  parlor  full  of  com- 
pany screaming,  in  a  high  tenor  voice : 

"Oh,  grandma!  Ethel's  got  the  egg  the  old  hen  mea- 
sures by !" 

Children  often  stumble  into  an  exceedingly  good 
joke.  I  think  this  is  the  best  one  I  know  of.  The 
teacher  was  questioning  the  arithmetic  class. 

"Boys,"  he  said,  "before  slates  were  in  use,  how  did 
the  people  multiply?" 

"I  know,  thir,"  said  Johnnie,  "I  read  it  in  my  gog'fry 
this  morning;  they  'multiplied  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.'  " 

"Right,  Johnnie,"  said  the  teacher.  "And  now, 
Joseph,"  he  added,  addressing  another  boy,  "why  is  it 
that  Johnnie  can  multiply  so  much  quicker  than 
you? 

"Because  'fools  multiply  very  rapidly,'  thir." 

Johnnie's  first  composition  on  dogs  ran  as  follows: 

One  time  there  was  a  feller  bot  a  dog  of  a  man  in  the  market, 
and  the  dog  it  was  a  biter.  After  it  had  bit  the  feller  four  or  five 
times  he  threw  a  closline  over  its  neck  and  led  it  back  to  the  dog 
man  in  the  market,  and  he  said  to  the  dog  man,  the  feller  did. 
"  Ole  man,  dident  you  use  to  have  this  dog?  "  The  dog  man  he 
luked  at  the  dog,  and  then  he  thot  awhile  and  then  he  said,  "  Well, 


THOSE   WICKED,    WICKED  BOYS!  203 

yes,  I  had  him  about  haf  the  time  and  the  other  haf  he  had  me." 
Then  the  feller  he  was  fewrious  mad,  and  he  said,  "  Wat  did  you 
sell  me  such  a  dog  as  thisn  for  ?  "  And  the  old  man  he  spoke  up 
and  sed,  "For  four  dollars  and  seventy  5  cents,  loffle  money." 
Then  the  feller  he  guessed  he  wude  go  home  if  the  dog  was  willing. 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN. 


Clerical  Anecdotes  by  Dr.  Collyer,  Lyman  Abbott,  Beecher,  and  Prof. 
Swing — Special  Prayer,  Baptism,  and  Close  Communion  Anecdotes — 
A  Clerical  Convention  for  Real  Solid  Fun. 

I  CAME  from  an  orthodox  family,  where  the  clergy- 
man was  always  a  welcome  guest.  Then  I  have 
been  thrown  with  clergymen  all  my  life.  My  room- 
mate in  college  was  a  young  clergyman,  and  many  a 
time  I've  gone  off  with  him  to  the  schoolhouses  and 
country  churches  to  assist  him  in  the  service.  I  really 
believe  the  mistake  of  my  life  has  been  in  not  being  a 
clergyman  myself.  I  have  virtue  enough,  and  imagina- 
tion and  fancy,  and  all  I  really  lack  is  the  license  to 
preach. 

I  have  spent  many  hours  listening  to  sweet  clerical 
stories  from  Dr.  Collyer,  Dr.  Swing,  Beecher,  Talmage, 
Sam  Jones,  Chapin,  and  Dr.  Potter.  When  I  want  to 
hear  the  purest  wit  and  humor  I  go  to  clerical  conven- 
tions and  hear  the  best  and  purest  of  fun  drop  out  from 
original  fountains.  In  a  recent  Union  College  lecture, 
I  said  : 

"The  clerical  anecdote  should  be  as  pure  as  a  parable, 
and  should  be  told,  like  the  parable,  to  illustrate  a 
point.  The  parables  of  the  Bible  are  really  a  succes- 
sion of  anecdotes.  They  never  happened.  They  were 
simply  told  to  illustrate  some  doctrine  or  point.  When 
our  Saviour  was  preaching  the  new  doctrine  of  'love 

204 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN,  205 

thy  neighbor  as  thyself,'— a  certain  lawyer  asked,  'Who 

is  my  neighbor?'  To  illustrate  this  our  Saviour  told 
the  parable  or  anecdote  of  the  man  who  went  down 
to  Jericho  and  fell  among  thieves.  Then  there  was 
the  anecdote  of  the  sower,  and  of  the  eleventh-hour 
man  in  the  vineyard. 

"The  child-stories  of  Moody  are  sweet  parables. 

"What  parable  can  be  sweeter  than  the  little  child 
story? 

"  'Papa,'  asked  a  little  girl,  whose  father  had  become 
quite  worldly  and  given  up  family  prayer,  '  I  say,  papa, 
is  God  dead?' 

"  'No,  my  darling;  why  do  you  ask  that?' 

"  'Why,  papa,  you  never  talk  to  him  now  as  you  used 
to  do.' 

"These  words  haunted  him  until  he  was  reclaimed." 

Children's  stories  are  often  very  amusing,  and  their 
weird  imagination  will  give  you  a  long  chase  if  you  try 
to  keep  up  with  it. 

One  day  I  was  trying  to  explain  to  little  Ethe!  some- 
thing about  Wendell  Phillips'  great  lecture  on  "The 
Lost  Arts." 

"Lost  tarts,"  she  said.     "Did  they  ever  find  them?" 

"No,  Ethel,"  I  said,  "'The  Lost  Arts'— A-R-T-S" 
(spelling  it  out). 

"You  know,  Ethel,  that  Mr.  Phillips  has  proved  that 
many  arts  have  been  lost.  He  says  they  had  steam  en- 
gines in  Egypt ;  the  Phoenicians  made  beautiful  glass- 
ware and  used  the  telephone,  and " 

"But,  papa,"  broke  in  Ethel,  "we  surely  have  made 
improvements  in  some  things.  There's  been  a  great  im- 
provement in  prayers." 

"Why,  my  child,  what  do  you  mean?" 


206  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Why,  I  can  say  the  Lord's  Prayer  in  the  Bible  in 
two  minutes,  and  Elder  Smitzer's  prayer  this  morning 
was — why,  it  was  ten  minutes  long!" 

Beecher,  like  most  clergymen,  was  fond  of  telling  a 
good  story  to  illustrate  a  doctrinal  point.  He  illus- 
trated these  points  with  a  parable.  I  remember  one 
day  how  the  great  Brooklyn  preacher  told  his  close  com- 
munion parable  to  a  party  of  Baptist  ministers.  He 
called  it  the  parable  of  the  Close  Communionists. 

"One  night,"  said  Beecher,  "I  had  a  sweet  dream 
and  floated  away  to  heaven.  Heaven  was  very  beauti- 
ful with  angels  and  pearly  gates  and  crowds  of  happy 
Christians.  There  were  Presbyterians  and  Methodists 
in  happy  communion,  and  Episcopalians  singing  hymns 
with  Campbellites — all  so  happy,  but  I  could  not  see  a 
Baptist.  I  looked  all  around,  but  not  one  in  sight. 
Finally  I  saw  St.  Peter  floating  along  on  a  cherub,  and 
asked  him  about  our  missing  brethren. 

"  'It  makes  me  sad,'  I  said,  'to  see  no  Baptists  here.' 

"  'Oh,  we  have  Baptists  here — plenty  of  them,'  said 
St.  Peter,  'but  they  are  off  on  a  leave  of  absence  to- 
day. They've  just  gone  over  to  that  cistern,  all  by 
themselves,  to  hold  close  communion.'  " 

Dr.  Lyman  Abbott,  who  has  succeeded  Beecher  in 
Plymouth  Church,  is  a  strong  believer  in  the  doctrine 
that  baptism  means  sprinkling  and  not  immersion,  and 
delights  in  telling  this  parable  on  the  immersionists,  as 
much  as  Beecher  delighted  in  telling  his  story  on  the 
close  communionists: 

"One  of  my  parishioners,"  said  the  doctor,  "came  to 
me  and  told  me  that  he  dreamed  that  a  Baptist  friend 
of  his  died  and  went  to  heaven." 

"Well,  what  did  he  see  there?"  I  asked, 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN.  207 

"He  saw  St.  Peter  at  the  gate,  and  beyond  him, 
through  a  doorway  surrounded  with  glaring  lights,  and 
smelling  of  brimstone,  was  the  devil." 

"'What  do  you  want?'  asked  St.  Peter  of  the  new 
arrival. 

"  'I  want  to  come  in,'  replied  the  immersionist. 

"  'Well,  who  are  you?' 

"'I'm  a  Baptist  minister.' 
'A  Baptist!'  repeated  St.   Peter,  a  little   puzzled. 
'A    Baptist,    eh?      Well,    what    do   you    Baptists   do? 
We  didn't  have  any  Baptists  in  my  time,  when  I  was 
Pope.* 

"  'Why,  we  baptize  people.' 

"  'Baptize  'em,  do  you?     What  in?' 

"  'Why,  water.' 

"'What,  all  over?' 

"  'Yes,  clear  under.' 

"  'But  suppose  it's  cold?' 
'Why,  down  they  go  right  through  the  ice.' 

"The  devil  happened  to  overhear  the  word  ice,  and 
came  forward,  rubbing  his  hands  in  great  glee. 

"  'What  did  you  say  about  ice?'  he  asked,  smiling. 

"  'Why,  we  baptize  people  through  the  ice.' 

"  'But  suppose  it's  forty  below  zero?' 
'Down  they  go,  all  covered  with  icicles.' 
'That'll  do,'  interrupted  the  devil ;  'you  just  take 
my  place;  you've  got  something  worse  than  fire.'  " 

If  you  want  to  hear  good  clerical  anecdotes,  I  say,  you 
must  go  to  a  Baptist,  Methodist,  or  Presbyterian  conven- 
tion, and,  if  there  are  any  really  good  jokes,  the  good 
old  Catholic  priest  won't  be  far  away.  They  all  like 
these  jokes,  and  it  is  about  the  only  recreation  the 
clergy  have.     Then  they  know,  as  every  man  in  the 


20S  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY    YEARS   OF   WIT. 

convention  is  a  bright  thinker,  that  no  one  will  put  a 
misconstruction  on  their  stories. 

At  the  last  Baptist  convention  in  New  York  they 
were  talking  about  taking  up  collections,  when  this 
story  came  out : 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Judson  is  pastor  of  a  large  con. 
gregation  in  middle  New  York.  His  hearers  are 
among  the  well-to-do-people  in  the  city,  but  are  not 
celebrated  for  generosity  in  supporting  the  church. 
The  good  preacher  had  been  trying  to  get  the  poor  peo- 
ple to  come  to  his  church,  and  recently,  through  the 
local  columns  of  the  city  papers,  he  extended  to  them 
a  cordial  invitation  to  attend. 

At  the  close  of  the  service,  recently,  he  said : 

"Brethren,  I  have  tried  to  reach  the  poor  of  New 
York  and  induce  them  to  come  to  our  church  and  break 
with  us  the  bread  of  life.  I  infer  from  the  amount  of 
the  collection  just  taken — $7.35 — that  they  have  come." 

Since  then  Dr.  Judson  has  built  and  paid  for  a  mag- 
nificent memorial  church  to  his  father,  the  noted  mis- 
sionary. 

The  Rev.  Dr.  Grinnell,  speaking  of  worldly  rich  men 
in  the  church,  said  that  in  his  Green  Bay  congregation 
there  was  a  rough  but  generous  lumberman  who  shocked 
everybody  with  his  plain  talk ;  but  they  all  bore  with 
him  on  account  of  his  kind  heart  and  lovely  family. 
Sometimes  he  would  even  say,  damn  it.  One  day  the 
clergyman  remonstrated  with  him : 

"Why  not  leave  out  the  expletives,  Mr.  Johnson?" 
he  said. 

"Well,  'damn  it,'  I  say  what  I  mean,  and  I  believe 
in  calling  a  spade  a  spade." 

"Yes,  that's  right,"  said  the  clergyman,  "I  want  you 


S 1  'OR  J '- 1  '/•-  L  L 1NG  CLER  G  YMEN.  209 

to  call  a  spade  a  spade,  but  it  pains  us  to  hear  you  call 
it  a  d — d  old  shovel." 

How  time  changes!  Many  and  many  years  ago  Dr. 
Judson  and  Dr.  Grinnell  were  classmates  of  mine  in  col- 
lege.    We  called  them  Eddy  and  Zelotese,  then. 

Everybody  knows  that  Robert  Collyer,  the  black- 
smith preacher,  is  a  strict  temperance  man,  but  still  he 
likes  a  good  dinner.  English  roast  beef  and  plum 
pudding  are  his  favorite  dishes. 

The  doctor  told  me  that  one  of  his  best  dinners  was 
almost  spoiled  by  a  joke. 

"But  a  joke  ought  to  spice  a  dinner,"  I  said. 

"It  did  spice  this  dinner,  Eli,  and  a  little  too  much," 
said  the  doctor. 

Dr.  Collyer  wras  dining  one  evening  at  Delmonico's, 
and  had  arrived  at  the  cheese  stage  of  his  repast.  A 
delightful  piece  of  Roquefort  was  set  before  him,  ripe, 
vivacious,  self-mobilizing.  There  is  nothing  Collyer 
likes  better  than  a  lively  cheese,  and  he  had  just  trans- 
ferred a  spoonful  of  the  delicacy  in  question  to  his  plate, 
when  Henry  Bergh,  sitting  at  a  neighboring  table, 
sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  cry  of  horror,  clutched  his 
wrist  with  an  iron  grasp,  and  exclaimed  : 

"Hold,  monster!  Never  shall  you  swallow  a  mouth- 
ful of  that  cheese  in  my  presence." 

"And  why  not?"  inquired  the  doctor,  in  perplexed 
amazement. 

"Because,  cruel  man,  I  am  a  member  of  the  Society 
for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  and  I  will 
not  sit  by  calmly  and  see  those  innocent  insects  tor- 
tured." 

The  doctor  tells  a  good  many  anecdotes  at  his  own 
expense,  but  they  are  all  as  pure  as  our  Saviour's  para- 


210         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

bles.  One  day  he  was  talking  to  a  good  old  colored 
man  down  in  Kentucky.  Mr.  Collyer  always  wears  his 
white  clerical  tie,  so  the  conversation  was  naturally 
about  preachers. 

"So,  Uncle  Jack,"  said  Dr.  Collyer,  "you  don't 
much  believe  in  the  idea  that  men  are  called  to 
preach." 

"Wall,  sah,  de  Laud  mout  call  some  niggers  ter 
preach,  but  it  sorter  'peers  ter  me  dat  whar  de  Lawd 
calls  one  old  man,  laziness  calls  er  dozen.  Nine 
nigger  preachers  outen  ten  is  de  lazits'  pussens  in  de 
worl',  sah." 

"How  do  you  know,  Uncle  Jack?" 

"Case  I'se  a  preacher  merse'f,  sah." 

"I  tell  you  what,  Brudder  Collyer,"  continued  Uncle 
Jack,  "we  preachers  must  wuck  with  energy,  ef  we 
wucker  'tall.  Scriptah  says,  'Wotsomever  you  hastest 
fer  to  do  you  oughter  dust  it  wid  all  yo'  hawt  an'  mine 
an'  stren'th.'    An'  above  all  things,  doan  pronasticate." 

"Don't  whaticate,  Uncle  Jack?  What  do  you 
mean?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"I  mean  doan  pronasticate,  Brudder  Collyer.  Doan 
put  off  tell  nex'  week  whatchah  orter  done  lass  year. 
Time,  Brudder  Collyer,  is  a  mighty  hahd  hoss  to 
head.  Tharfo'  it  behoofs  you,  as  Scriptah  says,  to 
ketch  him  by  the  fetlock  ef  you  wantah  come  undah 
de  wiah  'fo'  he  does." 

Bishop  Ames  once  told  me  a  parable  to  illustrate  how 
guarded  some  preachers  are  about  preaching  against 
such  sins  as  intemperance  and  card-playing.  "They 
are  afraid,"  said  the  Bishop,  "of  offending  some  one  in 
the  congregation.  They  remind  me  of  a  good  old 
colored  preacher  in   Missouri  in  slave  times.     He  was 


STOR  Y-  TELLING  CLERG  YMEN.  2  1  r 

a  powerful  preacher,  but  avoided  all  doubtful  issues. 
One  day  I  said  to  him  : 

"  'Pompey,  I  hear  you  are  a  great  preacher?' 
'Yes,  Bruddah  Ames,  dc  Lord  do  help  me  powerful 
sometimes.' 

'Well,  Pompey,  don't  you  think  the  negroes  some- 
times steal  little  things  on  the  plantation?' 

Tse  mighty  'fraid  dey  does;  I'se  mighty  'fraid  dey 
docs,  Brudder  Ames.' 

'Then,   Pompey,    I    want    you    to    preach    a    good 
square  sermon  to  the  negroes  about  stealing." 

"After    a  brief  reflection,  Pompey  replied  : 
"  'You    see,   Brudder  Ames,  dat  wouldn't    never  do, 
'cause  'twould  t'row  such  a  col'ncss  ober  de  meetin." 

"The  fact  is,"  said  the  Bishop,  "thousands  of  sinners 
go  unrcbuked  because  our  milk-and-water  preachers 
don't  want  to  throw  a  'coolness  over  the  meeting.'  ' 

The  Bishop  was  right.  As  I  once  said  before  the 
Chelsea  (Mass.)  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  the  unrepentant  sinner 
outside  of  the  Church  does  love  a  positive,  forcible 
preacher.  The  preacher's  business  is  morality,  and  I 
want  him  to  act  morally,  think  morally,  and  preach  mor- 
ally. I  want  no  compromises  in  religion.  I  want  my 
preacher  to  go  for  the  prohibition  of  all  sin,  including 
whisky  and  tobacco.  I  want  no  clergyman  to  preach 
temperance  to  me  in  the  church  and  smoke  Havana 
cigars  and  drink  beer  at  home.  High  license  belongs 
to  the  politician,  absolute  prohibition  to  the  clergy- 
man. 

Sam  Jones  is  not  elegant,  but  he  is  certainly  positive 
and  forcible.  When  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  of 
a  high  license  preacher  like  Dr.  Crosby,  he  said  : 

"A  high  license  preacher  won't  be  in  hell  ten  minutes 


212  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OE  WIT. 

before  the  devil  will  have  him  saddled  and  bridled,  rid- 
ing him  around  and  exhibiting  him  as  a  curiosity." 

"And  the  infidels — do  they  trouble  you?" 

"Infidels  trouble  me?"  said  Sam.  "Why,  I  can  put 
one  hundred  of  these  little  infidels  in  my  vest  pocket 
and  never  know  they  are  there  except  when  I  feel  for 
my  toothpick." 

Sam's  sarcasm  is  as  strong  as  the  philippic  of  Lorenzo 
Dow  against  Aaron  Burr. 

"Aaron  Burr  mean!"  said  Dow.  "Why,  I  could  take 
the  little  end  of  nothing  whittled  down  to  a  point, 
punch  out  the  pith  of  a  hair  and  put  in  forty  thou- 
sand such  souls  as  his,  shake  'em  up,  and  they'd 
rattle." 

Yes,  Sam  Jones  is  generally  logical.  If  he  does 
now  and  then  hide  away  a  piece  of  plug  tobacco  in 
his  mouth  he  don't  defend  it.  He  says  he's  a  prohibi- 
tionist at  heart,  but  one  corner  of  his  mouth  is  still 
out  on  probation. 

Some  of  our  clergymen  fuss  and  cavil  over  some 
immaterial  point  instead  of  sticking  to  the  great  point, 
which  is  Christ's  love  for,  and  dying  for,  the  sinner. 
I  heard  a  preacher  out  in  Missouri  one  day  preaching 
from  the  text,  "He  that  believeth  shall  be  saved." 
Splendid  text,  but  how  do  you  think  he  treated  it? 
Well,  he  opened  at  considerable  length  with  a  general 
view  of  the  subject,  and  then,  concentrating  his  force, 
proceeded  to  a  critical  exegesis  of  the  text  in  this  wise: 

"My  brethren,  I  wish  to  direct  your  attention  closely 
and  particularly  to  the  ivording  of  this  Scripture,  as 
thereby  you  will  be  able  to  reach  the  very  meat  and 
substance  of  it.  The  text  says,  'He  that  believeth': 
observe,  my  brethren,  it  does  not  say,  'He  that  believes,' 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN.  213 

nor  'He  that  beliewv/,'  but  it  plainly  and  expressly 
declares,  it  is  he  that  bclicvct/i  who  shall  be  saved. 
Mark,  my  brethren,  the  force  in  the  Scripture  of  the 
little  word  eth!" 

Perhaps  they  did  mark  it;  but  what  the  good 
preacher  meant  was  more  than  the  wisest  of  them 
could  tell. 

The  dear  old  preacher's  sermon  left  the  people  as 
much  in  the  fog  as  George  Thatcher  used  to  leave  the 
audience  after  hesitating,  stammering  talk  like  this: 

"I  used  be  a  clerk  in  a  store — clerk  in  a  store,  and  oh 
the  questions  the  women  shoppers  used  to  ask  me.     A 
lady  came  into  the  store  one  day  and  said  : 
'Young  man,  have  you  got  any  kids?' 

"I  bet  I  blushed — she  meant  gloves — kid  gloves. 

"Then  another  old  lad}'  came  in  one  day  and  said 
she  wanted  some  'moreantique.' 

"I  said,  'How  much  have  you  had  now?'  and  she 
said : 

'"Had  what?' 

"I  said,  'You  don't  want  to  get  any  more  antique.' 

"Laws!  but  she  was  mad.  She  took  out  her  smell- 
ing bottle,  pulled  out  the  cork,  and  I  was  laid  up  with 
catarrh  for  three  weeks. 

"A  lady  came  in  one  day  and  said,  'Can  I  see  your 
hose?' 

"I  said;  'Ma'am?' 

"She  said,  'Can  I  see  your  stockings?' 

"I  said,  'Now?' 

"She  said,  'Do  you  keep  ladies'  hose?' 

"I  said,  'Yes'm,  when  we  can't  sell  'em  we  keep  em.' 

"Then  I  asked  her,  'What  color?'  and  she  said, 
'Solid  color.' 


214         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"I  asked  her  if  she  'lived  in  town.' 

"She  said,  'Why  do  you  ask?' 

"I  told  her  'solid  colors  prevail  in  the  country,'  and 
suggested  stripes.  'They're  more  worn,'  I  said — 'worn 
more,  I  mean — don't  mean  they're  worn-out  more — 
but  they're  worn — more  out — outside  more.'  Then  I 
got  confused. 

"There  was  a  woman  came  in  the  store  one  day  as 
black  as  the  ace  of  spades — a  colored  woman — real 
color — and  she  wanted  a  pair  of  flesh-colored  stockings. 
I  showed  her  a  black  pair,  and  she  pulled  a  stiletto  out 
of  her  hair  and  was  going  to  stab  me. 

"I  said,  'Madame,  you  asked  for  flesh-colored  stock- 
ings ;  these  are  the  nearest  match  we  have.' 

'  'But,'  she  said,  T  want  white  people's  flesh  colored, 

or  flesh  colored  people's  white '  And  then   she  got 

confused  and  ran  away — ran  away." 

As  the  mystifying  clergyman  reminded  me  of  George 
Thatcher,  so  the  hesitating  Thatcher  reminds  me  of 
some  of  the  transcendental  language  of  our  clergymen. 
To  illustrate: 

Prof.  Swing  was  talking  religion  with  a  free-thinking 
Irishman  one  day,  and  said : 

"Your  mind,  my  friend,  is  in  a  twilight  state.  You 
cannot  differentiate  the  grains  of  mistrust  from  the 
molecules  of  a  reasonable  confidence.  You  are  travel- 
ing the  border  land,  the  frontier  between  the  paradise 
of  faith  and  the  Arctic  regions  of  incredulity.  You 
are  an  agnostic." 

"Divil  a  bit!"  said  Pat,  with  mingled  amazement 
and  indignation.     "I'm  a  Dimmycrat,  ivery  inch  o'  me." 

About  the  best  clerical  story  told  last  year  was  told 
by  Jay  Gould  to  Secretary  Wanamaker  at  Saratoga. 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN.  215 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  taking  Mr.  Gould  to  Secretary 
Wanamaker's  room  and  introducing  the  wolf  to  the 
lamb.  When  Mr.  Gould  asked  the  Secretary  if  the 
task  of  changing  postmasters  wasn't  a  disagreeable 
thing  to  do,  he  said  : 

'Yes.  The  details  of  the  office  of  the  Postmaster- 
General  are  often  very  disagreeable.  Changing  officers 
who  have  families  is  often  painful.  So  I  let  Mr.  Clark- 
son  attend  to  this,  telling  him  to  do  everything  busi- 
ness-like and  conscientious." 

"Your  turning  this  work  over  to  Clarkson,"  said 
Gould,  smiling,  "is  like  the  case  of  a  young  woman, 
years  ago,  in  our  Walkill  Valley  church.  She  was  a 
good  young  lady,  but  would  always  wear  very  showy 
toilets,  attracting  the  attention  of  the  whole  church. 
One  day  some  good  sisters  expostulated  with  her 
about  her  worldly  ways. 

'The  love  of  these  bright  bonnets,'  they  said,  'will 
draw  your  soul  down  to  perdition.' 

"Still  the  somewhat  worldly  sister  continued  to  wear 
a  bright  bonnet.  But  finally  one  night,"  said  Gould, 
"came  repentance.  The  young  lady  came  to  prayer- 
meeting  in  a  plain  hat.     She  arose  and  said  : 

T  feel,  brothers  and  sisters,  that  I  have  done  wrong. 
I  knew  that  my  love  for  bright  bonnets  was  ruining 
my  future  life.  I  knew  it  was  endangering  my  soul 
and  that  it  would  draw  me  down  to  perdition.  But  I 
will  never  wear  that  hat  again.  Never!  It  shall  not 
destroy  my  soul.  I'm  through  with  it.  I've  given  it 
to  my  sister.'  " 

It  seems  as  if  many  of  our  good  clergymen  are  fall- 
ing  by  the  way  because  they  think  too  much.  The 
creeds  which  fence  them  in  don't  seem  to  hold  them. 


216  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

They  will  break  through.  There  is  Dr.  Thomas,  the 
Methodist;  Prof.  Swing  and  Dr.  Briggs,  the  Presby- 
terians; Dr.  Bridgeman,  the  Baptist;  Dr.  McGlynn, 
the  Catholic,  and  Heber  Newton,  the  Episcopalian. 
They  all  believe  in  God  and  the  Prophets,  believe  in 
the  inspiration  of  the  Bible,  but  they  don't  believe  in 
the  inspiration  of  all  the  Hebrew  and  Greek  translators. 
They  believe  the  spring  is  pure  at  the  fountain-head, 
and  that  the  Lamb  is  innocent,  but  they  believe  that 
the  irreligious  wolves  have  been  soiling  the  waters 
with  tradition  and  superstition. 

Heber  Newton  tells  me  that  a  very  devout  clergy- 
man of  the  old  school  was  trying  to  impress  upon  the 
mind  of  his  son  the  fact  that  God  takes  care  of  all  his 
creatures;  that  the  falling  sparrow  attracts  his  atten- 
tion, and  that  his  loving  kindness  is  over  all  his  works. 
Happening  one  day  to  see  a  crane  wading  in  search  of 
food,  the  good  man  pointed  out  to  his  son  the  perfect 
adaptation  of  the  crane  to  get  his  living  in  that 
manner. 

"See,"  said  he,  "how  his  legs  are  formed  for  wading! 
What  a  long,  slender  bill  he  has !  Observe  how  nicely 
he  folds  his  feet  when  putting  them  in  or  drawing 
them  out  of  the  water!  He  does  not  cause  the 
slightest  ripple.  He  is  thus  enabled  to  approach  the 
fish  without  giving  them  any  notice  of  his  arrival. 

"My  son,"  said  he  enthusiastically,  "it  is  impossible 
to  look  at  that  bird  without  recognizing  the  design,  as 
well  as  the  goodness  of  God,  in  thus  providing  the 
means  of  subsistence." 

'Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  "I  think  I  see  the  goodness 
of  God,  at  least  so  far  as  the  crane  is  concerned ;  but, 
after  all,  father,  who  is  looking  after  the  poor  fish?" 


STOR  V-  TELLING  <  7  /■.  RG  ) 'MEN.  2  1  7 

It  was  the  old  case  of  the  "early  bird  catches  the 
first  worm,"  but  the  late  worm  generally  lives  the 
longest.  What  is  sauce  for  the  goose  is  not  always 
for  the  gander. 

Dr.  Newton's  parable  reminds  me  of  the  striking 
illustration  of  the  stanch  old  Tennessee  Baptist.  He 
wanted  to  illustrate  the  three  sects,  Methodists, 
Episcopalians,  and  hard-shell  Baptists.  So  he  took  a 
chestnut  into  the  pulpit  one  day,  and,  holding  it  up  to 
the  congregation,  began  : 

'My  friends,  you  see  this  chestnut;  well,  this  outer 
burr  here  is  like  the  Methodists,  soft  and  spongy,  with 
no  strength  into  it;  see,  I  even  mash  it  with  my  fin- 
gers," and,  suiting  the  action  to  the  words,  he  sloughed 
it  off  and  disclosed  the  inner  nut,  and  said  : 

'This  inner  nut  is  like  the  Episcopalians,  smooth 
and  dry  and  velvety,  with  no  substance  in  it." 

"But  the  kurnul— the  kurnul,  my  Christian  friends, 
is  like  our  good  old  primitive,  hard-shell  Baptist  faith, 
full  of  fatness  and  sweetness." 

He  then  proceeded  to  give  his  hearers  an  ocular 
demonstration  of  his  illustration,  by  crunching  the 
chestnut  between  his  teeth— and  at  the  same  time 
blowing  the  moldy  meat  all  over  the  pulpit,  and  ex- 
claiming, to  the  astonishment  of  everybody: 

"By  Jinks!  it's  rotten!" 

The  good  old  Baptist  clergyman  was  as  badly  de- 
ceived as  Burdette's  clergyman  was  in  his  illustration 
of  patience  before  the  Peoria  Bible  class. 

When  I  asked  Burdette  to  tell  me  just  exactly  how 
it  occurred,  he  stood  up  so  as  to  be  ready  for  a  violent 
gesture  and  said  : 

"It  was  one  hot  summer  afternoon  when  the  air  was 


2i8  ELI  PER  REVS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

full  of  sunshine  and  singing  birds  and  buzzing  insects. 
Our  dear  old  clergyman — I  can  see  him  now — was  tell- 
ing us  boys  how  we  should  never  get  excited. 

'Boys,'  he  said,  'you  should  always  be  patient — 
you  should  never  lose  your  tempers — never  let  your 
angry  passions  rise.  You  should  never  swear,  or  get 
antjrv  or  excited.  I  never  do.  Now,  to  illustrate, 
boys,'  pointing  upward,  'you  all  see  that  little  fly  on 
my  nose.  A  good  many  wicked,  worldly  men  would 
get  angry  at  that  fly,  but  I  don't! 
'  '"What  do  I  do? 

'Why,  my  children,    I  simply  say,  go  away  fly — 
go  away — and Gosh  blast  it!  it's  a  wasp!'  ' 

Prof.  Swing,  who  delights  in  a  good  story,  says  the 
clergymen  who  read  and  interpret  the  Bible  literally, 
are  like  that  old  colored  theologian,  the  Rev.  Caesar 
Green,  down  in  Arkansas. 

Caesar  was  the  only  Baptist  around  Pine  Bluff,  and 
he  always  'stuck  up,'  as  we  all  ought  to,  for  his  own 
faith,  and  was  ready  with  a  reason  for  it,  although  he 
was  unable  to  read  a  word.  This  was  the  way  he 
"went  at  the  Methodists." 

"You  kin  read,  now,  keant  you?"  he  asked  the 
Methodist  elder. 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I  s'pose  you've  read  the  Bible,  hain't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You've  read  about  John  de  Baptist,  hain't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  never  read  about  John  de  Methodis ',  did 
you?  Now,  when  you  show  me  jes  one  Bible  wid  de 
word  Methodis'  in  it,  I'll  consider  yer  claim." 

When    they    talked    to    Mr.   Beecher   about  eternal 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN.  219 

punishment,  he  used  to  sit  still  and  think.  I  le  thought 
how  John  Wesley  and  Jonathan  Edwards  had  taught 
it,  and  how  his  father  had  instilled  it  into  him  up  in 
Litchfield  Count)-.  He  felt  guilty  not  to  believe  in 
the  damnation  of  babes,  and  the  everlasting  punish- 
ment of  the  poor  heathen,  who  could  not  read  and  had 
never  heard  of  Christ.  Hut  still  he  couldn't  accept  it. 
He  could  not  agree  with  Andover. 

"I  know  it  was  part  of  my  mother's  religion,"  he 
said  one  day,  "and  thousands  believe  in  it  and  teach 
it. 

"There  used  to  be  an  old  lady  in  Boston,"  he  said, 
"who  carried  eternal  punishment  into  her  daily  life. 
She  kept  a  boarding-house,  but  she  was  so  stanch  in 
her  principles  that  for  a  long  time  she  wouldn't  take 
any  one  to  board  who  did  not  hold  to  the  eternal 
punishment  of  a  large  portion  of  the  race.  But  the 
people  were  more  intent  on  carnal  comforts  than 
spiritual  health,  so  in  time  her  house  became  empty, 
much  to  her  grief  and  alarm. 

"After  her  house  had  been  empty  for  a  long  time  a 
bluff  old  sea  captain  knocked  at  the  door,  and  the  old 
lady  answered  the  call. 

'  'Good-morning,  ma'am.  Can  you  give  me  board 
for  two  or  three  days?  Got  my  ship  here,  and  shall  be 
off  as  soon  as  I  load.' 

'Wa'al,  I  don't  know,'  said  the  old  lady. 

"'Oh,  house  full,  eh?' 

'"No,  but ' 

"  'But  what,  ma'am?' 
'I  don't  take  any  unclean  or  carnal  people  in  my 
house.     What  do  you  believe?' 

'"About  what?' 


220         ELI  PERK  I XS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"'Why,  do  you  believe  that  any  one  will  be  con- 
demned?' 

'"Oh,  thunder!  yes.' 

"'Do  you?'  said  the  good  woman,  brightening  up. 
'Well,  how  many  souls  do  you  think  will  be  on  fire 
eternally?' 

'Don't     know,     ma'am,     really — never    calculated 
that.' 

"  'Can't  you  guess?' 

"  'Can't  say — perhaps  fifty  thousand.' 
'Wa'al,  hem!'  mused  the  old  woman;  'I  guess   I'll 
take  you  ;  fifty  thousand  burning  souls  is  better  than 
nothing.'  " 

Beecher  always  maintained  that  prayer  would  not 
be  answered  without  faith  and  work.  "God  will  not 
answer  idle  words,"  he  said,  "but  prayer  with  faith  will 
remove  a  mountain." 

I  heard  of  an  old  Baptist  mother  in  Israel  out  in 
Missouri  who  had  the  right  kind  of  faith,  but  she  carried 
it  so  far  that  it  was  amusing.  The  old  lady  lived  at 
Maryville,  just  above  Clay  County,  when  Jesse  James 
and  his  gang  were  in  command  of  the  State.  Well, 
one  day  her  little  boy  Johnny  went  over  to  the 
Missouri  River  to  skate.  Sad  to  say,  little  Johnny 
never  returned.  The  good  old  lady  bore  her  loss 
patiently  and  silently  for  a  week,  and  finally  she  took 
the  burden  of  her  grief  to  the  Maryville  prayer-meet- 
ing. 

When  she  asked  for  prayers  for  her  little  boy's 
recovery,  the  clergyman  asked  her  where  she  thought 
her  Johnny  was  lost. 

"I  dun  know,  Elder,"  she  said,  "I  dun  know;  but 
the  brothers  and  sisters  needn't  pray  below  St.  Jo!" 


STORY-TELLING  CLERGYMEN.  221 

Many  clergymen  make  their  prayers  too  special. 
They  spend  so  much  time  telling  the  Lord  what  he 
knows,  saying,  "O  Lord,  thou  knowest,"  that  they 
have  no  time  left  to  ask  for  a  blessing.  Prayers  be- 
fore political  conventions  are  often  that  way.  At  a 
Presidential  convention  in  Cincinnati,  the  clergyman 
informed  the  Lord  that  low  tariff  would  hurt  the 
country.  "Decrease  wages,  O  Lord,"  he  said,  "and 
break  up  our  manufactories,  and  tin  plate  would  have 
to  be  made  in  Wales,  O  Lord,"  and  so  he  went  on,  and 
finally  actually  forgot  to  ask  the  Lord  to  frown  down 
on  the  Free  Traders. 

His  prayer  reminded  me  of  a  prayer  I  once  heard 
Elder  Smitzer  make  when  us  boys  used  to  go  to  his 
protracted  meeting  in  Hamilton,  N.  Y.  The  elder 
always  told  the  Lord  everything.  He  would  go  on 
for  half  an  hour  informing  the  Lord  about  everything 
in  Hamilton  and  Log  City,  and  even  in  Asia,  Africa, 
and  Oceanica. 

Once  I  took  down  the  elder's  prayer  in  short-hand, 
and  it  ran  thus: 

"O  Lord,  thou  knowest  everything.  Thou  knowest 
our  uprisings  and  our  downsittings.  Thou  knowest 
thy  servants'  inmost  hearts.  Thou  knowest,  O  Lord, 
what  thy  servant's  children  are  doing.  Thou  knowest 
the  wickedness  of  thy  servant's  nephew,  Francis 
Smitzer — how  he  came  home  last  night  in  a  beastly 
state  of  intoxication,  whistling,  O  Lord,  that  wicked 
popular  air  (whistling): 

Sho'  fly,  don't  bodder  me  ! 

Thou  recognizest  the  tune,  O  Lord  !" 

I  asked   Uncle  Josh,  our  colored  preacher  on  the 


222  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OE   WIT. 

plantation  at  Helena,  Ark.,  if  he  believed  in  special 
prayer. 

"What  you  mean  by  special  prayer?"  asked  Uncle 
Josh,  picking  a  turkey  feather  off  of  his  trousers. 

"By  special  prayer  I  mean  where  you  pray  for  an 
especial  thing." 

"Wal,  now,  Mister  Perkins,  dat  depends.  It  depends 
a  good  deal  on  what  yo'  pray  for." 

"How  is  that,  Uncle  Josh?" 

"Wal,  I  allays  notice  dat  when  I  pray  de  Lord  to 
send  one  of  Massa  Shelby's  turkeys  to  de  ole  man  it 
don't  come,  but  when  I  prays  dat  he'll  send  de  ole 
man  after  de  turkey  my  prayer  is  allays  answered." 

Uncle  Josh  certainly  believed  in  faith  and  works. 

One  day  we  suspected  Uncle  Josh  was  meddling 
with  our  fruit  trees,  for  we  found  him  in  the  garden 
late  at  night. 

"Here!  what  are  you  doing  here,  Uncle  Josh?"  I 
asked. 

The  good  negro  nonplussed  us  all  by  raising  his 
eyes,  clasping  his  hands,  and  piously  exclaiming: 

"Good  Lord !  dis  yere  darky  can't  go  nowhere  to 
pray  any  more  without  bein'  'sturbed." 


DOCTORS'  WIT  AND  HUMOR. 


General  Sheridan  Jokes  Dr.  Bliss— Dr.  Hammond  Cures  Eli  Perkins — 
Dr.  Monson  Knows  it  All— The  Colored  Doctor— The  Irishman's 
Doctor. 

THE  doctor — the  up-all-night,  hard-working  doctor! 
We  all  make  fun  of  him,  but  we  all  send  for  him. 
He  is  an  ex  necessitate  rei.  When  I  asked  old  Mrs. 
Throop  what  the  doctor  did  for  her,  she  looked  over 
her  spectacles  and  said:  "Well,  he  came  and  put 
some  water  in  two  tumblers  and — and  talked  so  intelli- 
gently !" 

I  love  the  doctor  for  his  negative  qualities;  not 
for  medicating  us,  but  for  his  skillfully  administered 
bread  pills.  I  love  him  for  his  diplomatic  way  of 
making  us  believe  he's  doctored  us  when  he  hasn't — 
for  the  best  doctors  now  take  off  their  hats  to  Dr. 
Nature,  and  let  him  do  what  they  used  to  do  with 
physic. 

Speaking  of  negative  doctoring  reminds  me  of  how 
General  Sheridan  defended  Dr.  Bliss.  Dr.  Bliss,  you 
know,  was  the  man  who  cured  President  Garfield, — that 
is,  cured  him  as  Dr.  Mackenzie  did  the  German 
emperor, — cured  him  till  he  died. 

One  day  when  they  were  criticising  Dr.  Bliss, 
General  Sheridan  came  to  the  doctor's  defense. 

"Dr.  Bliss  was  a  good  physician,"  said  General 
Sheridan,  "he  saved  my  life  once." 

223 


224  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS   OF  WIT. 

"How?  How  did  Bliss  save  your  life?"  asked  Dr. 
Hammond. 

"Well,"  said  Sheridan,  "I  was  very  sick  in  the 
hospital  after  the  battle  of  Winchester.  One  day  they 
sent  for  Dr.  Agnew  of  Philadelphia,  and  he  gave  "me 
some  medicine,  but  I  kept  getting  worse.  Then  they 
sent  for  Dr.  Frank  Hamilton  and  he  gave  me  some 
more  medicine,  but  I  grew  worse  and  worse.  Then 
they  sent  for  Dr.-  Bliss,  and " 

"And  you  still  grew  worse?" 

"No,  Dr.  Bliss  didn't  come;  he  saved  my  life!" 

The  mystery  about  medicines  and  the  obscurity  of 
professional  terms  throw  a  romance  about  the  doctor. 

One  day  I  fell  out  of  a  third  story  window  on  to  a 
picket  fence.  When  I  asked  Dr.  Hammond  if  I  would 
die  or  recover,  he  looked  at  my  tongue  and  said  he 
"thought  I  would." 

"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Because,"  said  he,  "on  general  principles,  Mr. 
Perkins,  whenever  a  patient's  oesophagus  becomes  hy- 
peraemic  through  the  inordinate  use  of  spiritus  vini 
rectificati,  causing  hepatic  cirrhosis,  the  reverse  holds 
true — in  other  cases  it  does  not." 

Then  he  put  some  water  in  two  tumblers,  and  said : 

"Idiosyncrasy,  Mr.  Perkins,  is  not  superinduced  by 
the  patient's  membranous  outer  cuticle  becoming  ho- 
mogeneous with  his  transmagnifibandanduality." 

Sez  I,  "Doctor,  I  think  so,  too." 

My  doctor,  Dr.  Hammond,  is  a  great  doctor.  He 
can  cure  anything.  He  can  cure  cholera  or  small- 
pox, or  hams  or  bacon. 

One  day  I  cut  my  toe  off  with  an  ax.  When  I 
called  in  Dr.   Hammond  to   prescribe  for  me  he  said 


DOCTORS'   WIT  AND  HUMOR.  2*$ 

he  thought  I  had  tic  doloro,  and  then  he  prescribed 
bleeding,  and  bled  me  out  of  seventeen  dollars.  That 
was  the  dollar;  and  when  he  wanted  his  pay  I  told 
hiin  to  charge  it,  and  that  was  the  tic;  and  I  still  owe 
it  to  him,  and  that  is  the  "o." 

The  doctors  are  not  physicians  any  more.  Since 
Dr.  Koch  has  discovered  the  lymph  cure  they  are 
lymphites,  and  I  who  write  about  them  am  a 
lymphologian.  Or  the  doctors  are  tubercologytes  and 
I  am  a  tubercologian.  Terms  are  always  mystifying, 
and  the  public  must  be  awed  with  mystery. 

Two  very  curious  incidents  occurred  to  me  recently — 
all  through  the  mystification  of  terms.  The  news- 
papers nowadays  are  full  of  Italian  murders  and  New 
Orleans-assassinations,  and  any  one  whose  name  ends 
with  an  i,  like  Martinelli,  or  Morelli,  is  looked  upon 
with  suspicion.  So  when  I  was  a  little  ill  the  other 
morning  and  our  Irish  butler  wondered  what  was  the 
matter,  I  said  : 

"  I  think,  Dennis,  that  it  was  that  Italian  maccaroni 
spaghetti  that  hurt  me." 

"That  Eyetalyun  Spaghetti!"  exclaimed  Dennis. 
"Faith,  and  thim  bloody  Eyetalyuns  will  hurt  enny 
one. 

Later  in  the  day  I  stepped  up  to  my  regular  Irish 
newsdealer  to  get  the  morning  papers.  The  old  Irish- 
man looked  me  in  the  face,  and  seeing  that  I  looked  a 
little  pale  remarked  : 

"Yez  don't  look  well  this  morning,  Mr.  Perkins. 
Have  ye  been  sick?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  looking  very  serious,  "I  was  laid  out 
last  week  by  an  attack  of  peritonitis." 

"Attacked    by    Purtinitist,  eh,"  exclaimed    the    old 


226  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

man,  looking  a  great  deal  mixed  up  mentally.  Then, 
after  a  moment's  pause,  and  in  a  very  indignant  tone, 
he  exclaimed : 

"Purtinitist !  Why  didn't  you  dhraw  your  gun  and 
shoot  the  Eyetalyun  blaggard  through  the  heart?" 

A  cautious  doctor  will  always  sit  still  and  let  his 
patient  talk,  and  in  a  few  moments  he  will  know  all 
about  his  disease.  But  they  tell  a  story  about  Dr. 
Munson,  of  Baltimore,  who  was  always  "too  previous." 
He  would  glance  at  a  patient  and  pompously  sum 
up  his  case  in  an  instant,  often  making  mistakes. 

One  afternoon  a  tired  looking  man  called  and  asked 
for  treatment.  The  doctor  looked  at  his  tongue,  felt 
of  his  pulse,  knocked  on  his  chest,  and  began : 

"Same  old  story,  my  friend.  Men  can't  live  without 
fresh  air.  No  use  trying  it.  I  could  make  myself  a 
corpse,  like  you  are  doing  by  degrees,  if  I  sat  down  in 
my  office  and  didn't  stir.  You  must  have  fresh  air; 
you  must  take  long  walks,  and  brace  up  by  staying 
out  doors.  Now  I  could  make  a  drug  store  of  you, 
and  you  would  think  I  was  a  smart  man.  but  my 
advice  to  you  is  to  walk,  walk,  walk." 

"But  doctor " 

"That's  right.  Argue  the  question.  That's  my 
reward.  Of  course  you  know  all  about  my  business. 
Now,  will  you  take  my  advice?  Take  long  walks  every 
day,  several  times  a  day,  and  get  your  blood  in  circula- 
tion. 

"I  do  walk,  doctor.     I " 

"Of  course  you  do  walk.  I  know  that;  but  walk 
more.  Walk  ten  times  as  much  as  you  do  now.  That 
will  cure  you." 

"But  my  business ■" 


DOCTORS'   WIT  AND  HUMOR.  227 

"Of  course,  your  business  prevents  it.  Change  your 
business,  so  that  you  have  to  walk  more.  What  is 
your  business?" 

"I'm  a  letter  carrier." 

"My  friend,"  said  the  doctor,  almost  paralyzed, 
"permit  me  to  once  more  examine  your  tongue."  And 
then  he  handed  him  a  box  of  pills,  with  directions  to 
take  "one  pill  five  times  a  day." 

"Doctors  often  say  their  fees  are  high  because  so 
many  patients  fail  to  pay  their  honest  bills.  To 
collect  these  bills  doctors  often  have  to  resort  to  the 
courts.  A  queer  medico-legal  case  came  up  recently  in 
Chicago:  Dr.  Barker  sued  an  Irishman  for  five  dollars 
for  professional  services  attending  his  wife.  He  proved 
his  claim  by  competent  witnesses — proved  that  he  had 
made  the  visits,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  chance 
for  the  Irishman  to  get  out  of  paying  the  bill.  But 
after  admitting  the  visits  the  Irishman  begged  the 
privilege  of  cross-examining  the  doctor. 

"Doctor."  he  commenced,  "you  remember  when  I 
called  on  you?" 
1  do,  sir. 

"What  did  I  soy?" 

"You  said  your  wife  was  sick,  and  you  wished  me  to 
go  and  see  her." 

"What  did  you  soy  thin?" 

"I  said  I  would  if  you'd  pay  me  my  fee." 

"What  did  I  soy?" 

"You  said  you'd  pay  the  fee,  if  you  knew  what  it 
was." 

"What  did  you  soy?" 

"I  said  I'd  take  five  dollars  at  first,  and  maybe  more 
in  the  end,  according  to  the  sickness." 


228         El.I  PERKIXS— THIRTY  YEARS   OF  WIT. 

"Now,  Docthor,  by  vartue  of  your  oath,  didn't  I 
soy  'Kill  or  cure,  Docthor,  I'll  give  you  the  five  dollars.' 
And  didn't  you  soy,  'Kill  or  cure,  I'll  take  it'?" 

"I  did;  and  I  agreed  to  the  bargain,  and  want  the 
money  accordingly,"  said  Dr.  Barker. 

"Now,  Docthor,  by  vartue  of  your  oath  answer  this: 
'Did  you  cure  me  wife'?" 

"No;  she's  dead.     You  know  that." 

"Then,  Docthor,  by  vartue  of  your  oath  answer  this: 
'Did  you  kill  me  wife'?" 

"No;  she  died  of  her  illness." 

"Your  worship,"  said  the  Irishman  turning  to  the 
judge,  "you  see  this.  You  heard  him  tell  our  bargain. 
It  was  to  kill  or  cure.  By  vartue  of  his  oath  he  done 
neither,  and  he  axes  the  fee !" 

The  Irishman  lost  his  case,  however.  He  was  not 
so  successful  as  farmer  Bennett — old  Peter  Bennett  of 
Georgia.  Old  Peter  was  a  plain  old  farmer,  but  he 
was  a  good  talker.  It  seems  that  the  old  man's  wife 
had  a  sore  limb,  and  he  employed  Dr.  Mason  to  cure 
it,  but  never  paid  him  for  services.  Now,  Dr.  Mason 
was  a  very  noted  and  a  very  learned  man ;  and  to  add 
to  this  he  employed  Bob  Toombs  to  prosecute  the 
case.  It  was  a  great  case  in  Georgia,  "Old  Peter 
Bennett  vs.  Dr.  Mason,"  and  the  reputation  of  Toombs 
brought  out  a  court  house  full  of  people. 

Well,  Toombs  made  a  strong  speech.  He  didn't 
leave  a  ghost  of  a  chance  for  old  Peter.  However,  just 
before  the  decision  was  to  be  made,  old  Peter  arose  and 
said : 

"Jedge,  moight  I  say  suthin'  in  this  case?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  judge. 

"Wall,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  began  old  Peter,  de- 


DOCTORS'    WIT  AND  HUMOR.  229 

positing  a  chew  of  tobacco  in  the  corner,  "I  ain't  no 
lawyer  and  no  doctor,  and  you  ain't  nuther;  and  if  we 
farmers  don't  stick  together,  these  here  lawyers  and 
doctors  will  get  the  advantage  of  us.  I  ain't  no  objec- 
tions to  lawyers  and  doctors  in  their  place,  and  some 
is  clever  men,  but  they  ain't  farmers,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury.  Now  this  Dr.  Mason  was  a  new  doctor,  and  I 
sent  for  him  to  come  and  doctor  my  wife's  sore  leg. 
And  he  did,  and  put  some  salve  truck  on  it,  and  some 
rags,  but  it  never  done  a  bit  of  good,  gentlemen  of  the 
jury.  I  don't  believe  he's  no  doctor,  no  way.  There's 
doctors  as  I  know  is  doctors,  sure  enough ;  but  this 
ain't  no  doctor  at  all." 

Old  Peter  was  making  headway  with  the  jury,  when 
Dr.  Mason  said,  "Here  is  my  diploma." 

"His  diploma,"  said  Bennett,  with  great  contempt; 
"that  ain't  nothin',  for  no  piece  of  paper  ever  made  a 
doctor  yet." 

"Ask  my  patients,"  yelled  the  now  thoroughly  en- 
raged physician. 

"Ask  your  patients,"  slowly  repeated  Bennett;  and 
then,  deliberating,  "Ask  your  patients !  Why,  they  are 
all  dead.  Ask  your  patients!  Why,  I  should  have 
to  hunt  them  in  the  lonely  graveyards,  and  rap  on  the 
silent  tomb  to  get  answers  from  the  dead.  You  know 
they  can't  say  nothing  to  this  case,  for  you've  killed 
'em  all." 

Loud  was  the  applause,  and  old  Peter  Bennett  won 
his  case. 


ELI  WITH    THE  LAWYERS. 


Anecdotes  of  Choate,  Ingersoll,  and  Evarts — Foraker's  Joke  on  Dan 
Voorhees — Negro  Judges  in  South  Carolina— Challenging  the  Judge 
— Funny  Verdicts. 

SINCE  studying  law  in  Columbia  College  Law  School, 
Washington,  many  years  ago,  I  have  tried  to  keep  in 
my  mind  all  the  good  law  stories  and  pathetic  or  laugh- 
able incidents  that  have  happened  in  our  courts.  But 
I  save  no  story  that  does  not  illustrate  a  moral,  legal, 
political,  or  judicial  point.  These  stories  generally  re- 
sult from  bantering  lawyers,  queer  charges  of  judges, 
and  strange  verdicts. 

I  told  the  best  story  about  the  bantering  lawyer  and 
the  old  soldier  years  ago,  but  it  is  good  enough  to  go 
into  history. 

Several  years  after  the  war  a  badgering  Philadelphia 
lawyer  was  trying  to  destroy  the  character  and  veracity 
of  a  modest  witness,  who  entered  the  witness-box  on 

crutches. 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  prison?"  asked  the  bluster- 
ing lawyer,  aiming  to  bully  the  witness  and  overawe 

him. 

The  witness  did  not  answer. 

"Come,  now,  speak  up;  no  concealment.  Have  you 
ever  been  in  prison,  sir?" 

"Yes,  sir;  once,"  answered  the  witness,  looking  mod- 
estly down  to  the  floor. 

230 


ELI  WITH  THE  LAWYERS.  231 

"Yes,  I  thought  so.  Now  when?  When  were  you  in 
prison,  sir?" 

"In  1863." 

"Where,  sir?" 

The  witness  hesitated. 

"Come,  own  up,  now;  no  dodging!"  screamed  the 
lawyer.     "Now,  where  were  you  in  prison,  sir?" 

it  T  *  "  * » 

In — in — in — 

"Don't  stammer,  sir!     Out  with  it!     Where  was  it?" 

"In — in  Andersonville,  sir." 

There  was  a  moment's  painful  pause.  Then  the 
lawyer,  who  was  an  old  soldier,  put  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  as  if  a  pistol  shot  had  struck  him,  while  the 
tears  came  to  his  eyes.  Then  jumping  forward,  he 
clasped  his  arms  around  the  witness's  neck,  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"My  God!  I  was  there  myself!" 

Rufus  Choate,  who  was  the  shrewdest  cross-examiner 
among  all  the  lawyers  of  the  Massachusetts  bar,  was 
once  trying  to  impeach  the  veracity  of  a  witness.  He 
had  been  toying  with  the  witness  for  some  time  with- 
out getting  any  damaging  admissions,  and  finally  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  at  him  plump  and  force  him 
to  the  wall. 

"Now,"  he  said,  eyeing  the  witness  savagely,  "you 
know  what  robbery  is,  don't  you?" 
Yes,  sir. 

"Well,  you  look  like  it.  Now,  sir,  I  ask  you  plainly 
and  categorically,  were  you  ever  engaged  in  a  bank 
robbery?" 

The  witness  hesitated. 

"I  repeat,  sir — did  you  not  once  rob  a  bank?  Come, 
no  evasion," 


232  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"I  was  never  indicted  for  bank  robbery.     I " 

"Never  mind  that;  answer  my  question.  Were  you 
ever  engaged  in  a  bank  robbery?     Speak  up." 

"Judge,  must  I  answer  this  question?"  said  the 
witness,  appealing  to  the  Court. 

"Yes,  you  will  have  to  answer  it?" 

"Well,  what  is  the  question?" 

"I  give  it  to  you  again,  sir.  Did  you  not  once  rob 
a  bank?     Speak  up,  sir;  no  equivocation.     Did  you?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  witness,  smiling,  while  the  whole 
court  screamed  with  laughter. 

Mr.  Ingersoll  is  such  a  devoted  husband  and  father 
himself  that  any  infidelity  on  the  part  of  a  husband 
infuriates  him.  He  holds  that  a  man's  love  should 
be  given  to  his  wife  first,  last,  and  all  the  time. 

In  a  divorce  case,  recently,  Mr.  Ingersoll  believed 
the  defendant  had  been  untrue  to  his  wife,  and  he 
thus  opened  up  on  him  in  cross-examination. 

"You  say,  sir,  that  you  have  always  been  faithful 
to  your  marriage  vows?" 

"Well — yes,"  hesitatingly. 

"But  you  have  associated  with  other  women." 

"I  presume  so." 

"Been  to  see  them?" 
No,  sir. 

"Oh  !  they  came  to  )'our  house?" 

"Judge!"  appealed  the  witness,  "must  I  answer 
these  foolish  questions." 

"Yes,  answer,"  said  the  judge  sternly. 

"Now,"  said  Ingersoll,  feeling  that  he  had  the  man 
in  his  grasp,  "what  woman,  other  than  your  wife, 
came  to  your  house?" 

"Well— oh " 


I-.I.l   WITH  THE  LAWYERS.  233 

"Answer;  don't  prevaricate;  who  was  it?" 

"Judge!"  with  an  appealing  look,  to  which  the  judge 
said,  "Go  on  !" 

"Answer;  who  was  it?"  demanded  Ingersoll. 

"My  mother,"  lisped  the  witness,  with  a  quiet  wink 
at  the  jury. 

Ingersoll  had  a  case  once,  in  Peoria,  where  a  mother 
testified  in  behalf  of  her  son,  and  swore  "that  he  had 
worked  on  a  farm  ever  since  he  was  born." 

"What !"  exclaimed  Ingersoll,  "you  swear  he  has 
worked  on  the  farm  ever  since  he  was  born?" 

"I  do." 

"What  did  he  do  the  first  year?" 

"He  milked r 

There  was  a  mingling  of  law  and  medicine  one  morn- 
ing in  Judge  Brady's  courtroom.  They  were  cross- 
examining  a  pale,  consumptive-looking  man,  who  was 
continually  coughing.  The  judge's  patience  gave  out 
after  a  while,  and  he  said  petulantly: 

"Here,  just  stop  that  coughing,  now;  stop  it!" 

There  was  a  short,  painful  silence,  during  which  the 
pale  coughcr  struggled  with  himself,  and  then  coughed 
again  and  continued  it  for  several  minutes. 

"I'm  bound  to  stop  that  coughing,"  exclaimed  the 
judge.    "I  fine  you  ten  dollars.    That'll  stop  it,  I  guess." 

"Jedge,"  said  the  cadaverous  man,  "I'd  be  willin'  to 
pay  twenty  dollars  to  have  that  cough  stopped.  If 
you  can  stop  it  for  ten  dollars  you'd  better  get  right 
down  off  of  that  bench  and  go  to  practicing  medicine. 
There's  money  in  it,  Jedge — money  in  it!" 

They  often  say  that  judges  are  always  heartless,  but 
a  case  came  up  in  Arkansas  where  the  judge  showed  a 
remarkable  warmth  of  feeling. 


234  ELI  PERKIXS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

A  gentleman  was  arraigned  before  this  Arkansas 
justice  on  a  charge  of  obtaining  money  under  false 
pretenses.  He  had  entered  a  store,  pretending  to  be 
a  customer,  but  proved  to  be  a  thief. 

"Your  name  is  Jim  Lickmore,"  said  the  justice. 
Yes,  sir. 

"And  you  are  charged  with  a  crime  that  merits  a  long 
term  in  the  penitentiary?" 

"Yes,  sir." 
.     "And  you  are  guilty  of  the  crime?" 

"I  am." 

"And  you  ask  for  no  mercy?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  have  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  within  the  last 
two  years?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I  have." 

"You  have  often  wished  that  you  were  dead?" 

"I  have,  please  your  Honor." 

"You  wanted  to  steal  money  enough  to  take  you 
away  from  Arkansaw?" 

"You  are  right,  Jedge." 

"If  a  man  had  stepped  up  and  shot  you  just  as  you 
entered  the  store,  you  would  have  said,  'Thank  you, 
sir  ? 

"Yes,  sir,  I  would.  But,  Judge,  how  did  you  find 
out  so  much  about  me?" 

"Some  time  ago,"  said  the  judge  confidentially,  and 
with  a  solemn  air,  "I  was  divorced  from  my  wife. 
Shortly  afterward  you  married  her.  The  result  is 
conclusive.  I  discharge  you.  Here,  take  this  fifty- 
dollar  bill.     You  have  suffered  enough." 

Lawyers  often  have  hard  work  to  get  witnesses  to 
state    precisely   the    words    spoken.     A   witness    was 


ELI  WITH  THE   LAWYERS.  235 

examined  in  a  case  before  Judge  Folger,  who  required 
him  to  repeat  the  precise  words  spoken. 

"Now,"  said  the  judge,  "I  want  you  to  tell 
us  precisely  what  the  man  said.  Give  his  exact 
words." 

The  witness  hesitated  until  he  riveted  the  attention 
of  the  entire  court  upon  him;  then,  fixing  his  eyes 
earnestly  on  the  judge,  began: 

"May  it  please  your  Honor,"  he  said,  "you  lie  and 
steal,  and  get  your  living  by  stealing." 

The  face  of  the  judge  reddened,  and  he  immediately 
said : 

"Turn  to  the  Jury,  sir." 

On  another  occasion  Judge  Folger  was  trying  a  man 
who  had  been  caught  stealing  and  pleaded  in  extenua- 
tion that  he  was  drunk. 

"What  did  the  man  say  when  you  arrested  him?" 
asked  the  judge  of  the  policeman. 

"He  said  he  was  drunk." 

"I  want  his  precise  words,  just  as  he  uttered  them; 
he  didn't  use  the  pronoun  he,  did  he?  He  didn't  say 
he  was  drunk?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Oh,  yes  he  did;  he  said  he  was  drunk;  he  acknow- 
ledged the  corn." 

"You  don't  understand  me  at  all";  said  the  judge, 
getting  impatient.  "I  want  the  words  as  he  uttered 
them;  didn't  he  say  T  was  drunk?' 

"Oh,  no,  your  Honor,  he  didn't  say  you  were  drunk; 
/  wouldn't  allow  any  man  to  charge  that  upon  you  in 
my  presence." 

"Pshaw  !"  interrupted  the  prosecuting  attorney,  "you 
don't  comprehend  at  all ;  his  Honor  means,  did  not  the 
prisoner  say,  'I  was  drunk'?" 


236         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Well,"  said  the  policeman  reflectively,  "he  might 
have  said  you  was  drunk,  but  I  didn't  hear  him." 

"What  the  Court  desires,"  said  the  prosecuting 
attorney  earnestly,  "is  to  have  you  state  the  prisoner's 
own  words,  preserving  the  precise  form  of  the  pronoun 
that  he  made  use  of  in  reply.  Was  it  first  person,  I ; 
second  person,  thou,  or  the  third  person,  he,  she,  or  it.' 
Now,  then,  sir  (with  severity),  upon  your  oath,  didn't 
my  client  say,  'I  was  drunk'?" 

"No,  condamit,  he  didn't  say  you  was  drunk,  but 
(reflectively)  I  believe  you  was,  and  are  now;  but  on 
my  oath  the  man  didn't  say  so." 

Speaking  of  accurate  answers  the  answer  in  regard 
to  old  Mrs.  Flannagan's  veracity  capped  the  climax. 
It  seems  that  in  a  recent  murder  trial  at  Bangor,  Me., 
the  old  lady  swore  to  a  confession  made  to  her  by  the 
respondent,  whereupon  defense  called  old  Erastus 
Wiley,  who  had  said  repeatedly  he  wouldn't  believe 
her  under  oath. 

"Do  you  know  the  reputation  of  Mrs.  Flannagan  for 
truth  and  veracity?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Well  now,  Squire,"  said  Wiley,  "I  guess  she'd  tell 
the  truth  ;  but  about  her  veracity — well,  now,  some  say 
she  would  and  some  say  she  wouldn't." 

In  1868,  on  my  return  from  Europe,  I  spent  the 
winter  and  spring  in  the  sweet  old  town  of  Darlington, 
S.  C.  My  experience  hunting  coons  nights  in  the  pine 
woods,  with  little  armies  of  darkies  armed  with  blazing 
pine  knots,  would  fill  a  book.  The  Carpet-baggers  were 
ruling  in  those  days,  and  there  were  many  negro  judges. 
I  got  the  best  conception  of  negro  justice  then  that  I 
ever  received.  While  I  was  in  Darlington,  Caesar  Green, 
an  aged  colored  man,  was  arrested  for  stealing  a  cow, 


ELI   WITH   THE  LAWYERS.  237 

killing  her,  and  disposing  of  the  meat.  The  hide  and 
horns  were  found  on  Mr.  Green's  premises.  Proof  of 
stealing  was  complete.  In  fact,  Caesar  confessed  to 
stealing  the  cow. 

"Well,  Mr.  Green,"  said  the  darky  judge,  "you 
stands  'victed  ob  stealin'  de  cow.  Now,  what  you  got 
to  say  for  yusself?  What  you  gwine  to  do  'bout 
it?" 

"I  hain't  got  nuffin  to  say,  jedge  ;  but  I  'specs  jestice 
demands  dat  I  pay  for  de  cow?" 

"Yes,  you's  got  to  pay  seventeen  dollars  for  de 
cow,"  said  the  justice  sternly,  "and  dat  will  settle  it." 

"But,  jedge,  I  hain't  got  de  seventeen  dollars." 

"No  money  at  all?" 

"No,  not  a  cent,  jedge." 

"Does  anybody  owe  you  any  money?"  asked  the 
judge. 

'Yes,"  said  the  culprit,  "Jack  Smith  owes  me  seven- 
teen dollars,  and  he's  done  owed  it  to  me  since 
Chris'mas." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  judge  sternly.  "Justice  must 
take  her  course.  De  law  must  be  satisfied.  I  order 
de  sheriff  to  discharge  de  pris'ner  an'  arrest  Jack 
Smith,  an'  hold  him  in  close  'finement  till  he  pays  de 
seventeen  dollars." 

When  I  left  Darlington,  two  weeks  after,  I  learned 
Smith  had  paid  the  seventeen  dollars,  and  justice 
(colored)  was   satisfied. 

A  while  after  this  Caesar  Green  was  arrested  for 
stealing  Mr.  Jones's  chickens,  but  stoutly  denied  it. 
However,  his  case  came  to  trial  and  I  attended  it,  and 
listened  to  the  cross-examination  : 

"And  you  say,  Caesar,  that  you  are  innocent  of  the 


238  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

charge  of  stealing  a  rooster  from  Mr.  Jones?"  asked 
the  colored  judge. 

"Yis,  sah  ;   I  is  innocent;  innocent  as  a  child." 

'Then  you  are  perfectly  confident  that  you  did  not 
steal  the  rooster  from  Mr.  Jones?" 

'Yis,  sah;  and  I  kin  prove  it.     I'ze  got  an  alibi." 

"How  can  you  prove  it?" 

'I  kin  prove  dat  I  didn't  steal  Massa  Jones's  rooster, 
jedge,  'case  I  stole  two  hens  from  Mr.  Graston  de 
same  night,  and  Jones  he  lives  five  miles  from 
Graston's." 

'The  proof  is  conclusive,"  said  the  judge.  "Dis- 
charge the  prisoner." 

It  was  in  the  same  colored  court  that  there  happened 
to  be  upon  the  docket  a  case  of  "Bump  against  Green." 
When  the  colored  judge  reached  this  case  upon  the 
first  call  there  was  no  answer,  and  he  called  out  to  the 
attorney  for  the  plaintiff: 

"Mr.  Jones,  'Bump  against  Green.'" 

Mr.  Jones,  who  had  not  been  paying  strict  atten- 
tion, and  evidently  not  comprehending  the  situation, 
looked  up  and  said  : 

"Bump  against  him  yourself ,  judge." 

One  day  they  asked  the  colored  judge  if  he  would 
convict  a  man  on  circumstantial  evidence! 

"I  dunno  wot  dat  is,  boss." 

"Well,  what  do  you  think  it  is?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  'cordin'  to  my  judgment,  sarcumstanshil  evi- 
dence is  'bout  dis:  If  one  man  shoots  annudder  and 
kills  him,  he  orter  to  be  hung  for  it.  Ef  he  don't  kill 
him,  he  orter  go  to  the  plenipotentiary." 

A  young  Darlington  lawyer  defended  a  negro  in  the 
colored  court.     The  jury  were  all  negroes.     Many  had 


ELI  WITH  THE  LAWYERS.  239 

been  challenged,  because  the  accused  darky  said  they 
were  again  him.  After  the  lawyer  got  his  twelve  jury- 
men he  whispered  to  the  colored  man  and  asked  : 

"Are  there  any  more  jurymen  who  have  prejudices 
against  you?" 

"No,  boss,  de  jury  am  all  right,  but  now  I  wants 
you  to  challenge  de  jedge.  I  has  been  convicted 
under  him  seberal  times  already,  and  maybe  he  is  be- 
ginnin'  to  hab  prejudice  agin  me." 

The  young  lawyer,  this  being  his  first  case,  took  the 
advice  of  his  client,  and  addressing  the  Court,  told  the 
judge  he  could  step  aside. 

Which  he  did. 

It  has  got  to  the  point  in  New  York  that  no  sensible 
business  man  will  have  anything  to  do  with  law  in 
this  city,  on  account  of  the  excessive  fees.  The  fees  in 
New  York  remind  me  of  a  little  law  incident  in  Nor- 
wich, Conn. 

George  Smith  had  failed  in  business  there  and  sold 
out,  and  having  two  or  three  tough  little  bills,  had 
given  them  to  his  lawyer  for  collection.  Smith  went 
to  the  office  to  receive  the  proceeds.  The  amount 
collected  was  about  fifty  dollars. 

"I'm  sorry  you've  been  so  unfortunate,  Smith,"  said 
the  lawyer,  "for  I  take  a  great  interest  in  you.  I 
shan't  charge  you  so  much  as  I  should  if  I  didn't  feel 
so  much  interest  in  you." 

Here  he  handed  Smith  fifteen  dollars,  and  kept  the 
balance. 

"You  see,  Smith,"  continued  the  lawyer,  "I  knew 
you  when  you  were  a  boy,  and  I  knew  your  father  be- 
fore you,  and  I  take  a  good  deal  of  interest  in  you. 
Good-morning;  come  and  see  me  again  !" 


240  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Smith,  moving  slowly  out  of  the  door,  and  ruefully 
contemplating  the  avails,  was  heard  to  mutter: 

"Thank  God,  you  didn't  know  my  grandfather." 

This  Norwich  story  reminds  me  of  a  little  conversa- 
tion between  Wm.  M.  Evarts  and  Tim,  a  well-known, 
jolly,  florid-faced  old  New  York  drayman. 

"Have  you  had  a  job  to-day,  Tim?"  asked  Mr. 
Evarts,  seeing  Tim's  dray  hitched  to  the  curb  in  front 
of  his  office. 

"Bedad,  I  did,  sor." 

"How  many?" 

"On'y  two,  sor." 

"How  much  did  you  get  for  both?" 

"Sivinty  cints,  sor." 

"Seventy  cents!  How  in  the  world  do  you  expect 
to  live  and  keep  a  horse  on  seventy  cents  a  day?" 

"Some  days  I  have  half  a  dozen  jobs,  sor;  but 
bizniss  has  been  dull  to-day,  sor.  On'y  the  hauling  of 
a  trunk  for  a  gintilman  for  forty  cints,  an'  a  load  of 
furniture  for  thirty  cints;  an'  there  was  the  pots  an' 
the  kittles,  an'  the  divil  on'y  knows  phat ;  a  big  load, 
sor. 

"Do  you  carry  big  loads  of  household  goods  for 
thirty  cents?" 

"She  was  a  poor  widdy,  sor,  an'  had  no  more  to  give 
me.  I  took  all  she  had,  sor;  an'  bedad,  sor,  a  Iyer 
could  have  done  no  better  nor  that,  sor." 

When  the  A.  T.  Stewart  heirs  asked  Mr.  Evarts 
what  he  would  charge  to  manage  their  case  against 
Judge  Hilton,  he  said: 

"Well,  I  will  take  a  contingent  fee." 

"And  what  is  a  contingent  fee?"  asked  one  of  the 
heirs. 


ELI  WITH  THE  LAWYERS.  24' 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Evarts  mellifluously,  "I  will 
tell  you  what  a  contingent  fee  to  a  lawyer  means.  It 
I  don't  win  your  suit,  I  get  nothing.  If  I  do  win  it, 
you  get  nothing." 

But  strange  to  say,  Evarts  and  Choate  won  their 
case  and  got  millions  for  these  heirs,  and  as  soon  as 
they  won  it  they  were  retained  by  Judge  Milton — and 
the  leak  has  been  stopped. 

While  I  was  in  Leadville  in  1870,  the  coroner's 
jury,  after  investigating  a  murder  case,  brought  in  this 
verdict : 

We  find  that  Jack  Smith  came  to  his  death  from  heart  disease. 
We  find  two  bullet  holes  and  a  dirk  knife  in  that  organ,  and  we 
recommend  that  Bill  Younger  be  lynched  to  prevent  the  spreading 
of  the  disease. 

Ex-Governor  Foraker,  of  Ohio,  told  me  this  capital 
legal  story  on  Senator  Daniel  Voorhees.  "Senator 
Voorhees  was  once  a  hard-working  lawyer  in  Terre 
Haute.  On  one  occasion,"  said  Governor  Foraker, 
"Voorhees  defended  a  gambler  for  killing  a  man. 
There  were  some  doubts  about  the  case — whether  it 
was  murder  or  manslaughter.  Voorhees  made  a  superb 
plea,  but  still  the  gambler's  friends  were  afraid  he 
would  be  convicted.  They  had  plenty  of  money  and 
had  raised  $5000  to  influence  a  juryman,  as  those 
were  old  times  when  justice  was  not  as  pure  as  now. 
Well,  they  picked  out  a  weak  juryman  and  agreed  to 
give  him  $5000  if  he  would  'hang  the  jury.' 

"The  man  earned  his  money,"  said  Foraker,  "for, 
sure  enough,  the  jury  disagreed.  The  next  day  there 
was  a  meeting  of  Voorhees  and  the  friends  to  pay  the 
faithful  juryman. 


242  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"  'You  earned  the  money,'  said  the  friends  of 
Voorhees  to  the  juryman,  'and  here  it  is  with  our 
thanks.' 

"  'Earned  it,'  said  the  juryman.  'I  guess  I  did.  I 
kept  that  jury  out  two  days.  I  wouldn't  give  them  a 
wink  of  sleep  till  they  agreed  with  me  in  a  verdict  of 
manslaughter,  and  they  knew  it.' 

"'How  did  they  stand  when  they  first  went  out?' 
asked  Voorhees. 

"  'Well,  there  were  eleven  of  them  for  acquittal— 
but  I  brought  'em  round  !'  " 

I  will  end  my  law  reminiscences  with  a  little  story 
about  our  present  chief  justice,  Melville  VV.  Fuller: 

Chief  Justice  Fuller,  when  a  boy,  belonged  to  a 
debating  club  in  Oldtown,  Me.  One  evening,  capital 
punishment  was  debated.  The  deacon  of  the  church 
was  for  hanging.     Young  Fuller  was  opposed. 

Said  the  deacon,  quoting  from  the  Mosaic  law: 
"Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by  man  his  blood  shall 
be  shed."  Thinking  this  to  be  a  bombshell  to  his 
opponents  he  dwelt  upon  it  till  his  time  had  expired, 
when  the  boy  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  said : 

"Supposing  we  take  the  law  which  the  gentleman 
has  quoted  and  see  what  the  logical  deduction  would 
come  to.  For  example,  one  man  kills  another ;  another 
man  kills  him,  and  so  on  until  we  come  to  the  last 
man  on  earth.  Who's  going  to  kill  him?  He  dare 
not  commit  suicide,  for  the  same  law  forbids  it.  Now, 
Deacon,"  continued  the  boy,  "what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  that  last  man?" 

The  boy's  logic  called  out  rounds  of  applause,  and 
vanquished  the  deacon,  and  we  hope  he  will  be  our 
chief  justice  for  a  thousand  years. 


ELI  WITH  THE  LAWYERS.  243 

Twenty  years  after  this,  when  the  chief  justice  was 
practicing  law  in  Chicago  before  Judge  McArthur,  he 
made  another  bright  answer.  In  his  speech  before 
the  judge,  he  pleaded  his  client's  ignorance  of  the  law 
in  extenuation  of  an  offense  he  had  committed.  The 
judge  said,  "Every  man  is  presumed  to  know  the  law, 
Mr.  Fuller." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,  your  Honor,"  responded  Mr. 
Fuller.  "Every  shoemaker,  tailor,  mechanic,  and 
illiterate  laborer  is  presumed  to  know  the  law,  every 
man  is  presumed  to  know  it,  except  judges  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  and  we  have  a  Court  of  Appeals  to 
correct  their  mistakes." 

The  chief  justice  tells  me  that  he  was  once  quite 
shocked  during  a  trial  in  Chicago.  There  were  two 
witnesses  to  be  sworn,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Thomas,  a  con- 
scientious clergyman;  and  broker  Hutchinson,  some- 
times called  "Old  Hutch."  The  probate  judge  was  a 
very  dignified  man,  and  allowed  witnesses  to  swear  or 
affirm  according  to  the  dictates  of  conscience. 

Addressing  Dr.  Thomas,  he  said : 

"Now,  Doctor,  will  you  affirm,  or  take  the  regular 
oath?" 

"The  Bible  says  'swear  not  at  all,'  Judge,"  said  the 
doctor;  "so  I  prefer  to  affirm." 

After  the  doctor  had  solemnly  affirmed,  the  judge 
asked  Mr.  Hutchinson: 

"Which  do  you  prefer,  the  affirmation  or  the 
oath?" 

"I  don't  care  a  d n  which,"  said  "Old   Hutch"; 

then  smiling  at  the  judge,  he  added,  "You  see  the  Bible 
says  swear  not  at  all,  and  I  don't  swear  at  all ;  I  only 
swear  at  my  particular  friends." 


244  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Some  of  our  best  wit  comes  out  through  Our  city 
judges  in  their  examination  of  prisoners. 

One  day  O'Rafferty  was  up  before  Judge  Brady  for 
assaulting  Patrick  Murphy,  and  this  was  the  examina- 
tion : 

"Mr.  O'Rafferty,"  said  the  judge,  "why  did  you 
strike  Mr.  Murphy?" 

"Because  Murphy  would  not  give  me  a  civil  answer 
to  a  civil  question,  yer  Honor." 

"What  was  the  civil  question  you  asked  him?" 

"I  asked  him,  as  polite  as  yez  plase,  'Murphy,  ain't 
your  own  brother  the  biggest  thafe  on  Manhattan 
Island,  excepting  yourself  and  your  uncle,  who  is 
absent  at  the  penitentiary  in  Sing  Sing?" 

"And  what  rude  answer  did  he  give  to  such  a  very 
civil  question?" 

"He  said  to  me,  'Av  course,  prisint  company  ex- 
cepted'; so  I  said,  'Murphy,  you're  another,'  and 
sthruck  him  wid  me  fist." 


EVARTS— CONKLING-GOVERNOR  HILL. 


Many  Legal  Anecdotes — Depew  Tells  about  E  varts  and  Bancroft — E  varts's 
Pig  Pork — Chief  Justice  Waite  on  Conkling — W.  S.  Groesbeck  and 
Senator  Boutwell's  Speeches  at  Johnson's  Impeachment. 

WM.  M.  EVARTS,  ex-Senator,  and  ex-Secretary  of 
State  under  Hayes,  like  Webster  and  Clay,  is 
too  great  a  man  to  be  president.  Mr.  Evarts  is  one 
of  those  great  men  like  Beecher,  who  is  never  so  undig- 
nified as  to  use  an  anecdote  or  joke  without  a  purpose. 
If  a  laugh-provoking  story  comes  in  his  way  and  it 
illustrates  a  point,  he  uses  it.  Beecher  used  to  come 
right  up  to  a  joke  in  an  extemporaneous  sermon ;  then 
he  would  stand  a  moment,  his  great  soulful  eyes  would 
twinkle,  and — the  joke  tumbled  out !  It  was  a  surprise 
to  himself  as  much  as  to  his  audience.  It  was  dignified 
because  it  was  natural,  and  right  in  the  line  of  his 
thoughts. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  best  paradoxes  ever  uttered  is 
attributed  to  Mr.  Evarts.  It  occurred  in  Omaha, 
when  Mr.  Evarts  was  there  with  President  Hayes  and 
his  cabinet.  The  occasion  was  an  after-dinner  speech ; 
and  Mr.  Evarts  was  complimenting  the  West  in  one 
of  his  characteristic  long  sentences.  Said  the  Secretary, 
in  one  of  those  grave  and  eloquent  flights  of  oratory : 
'I  like  the  West;  I  like  her  self-made  men  ;  and  the 
more  I  travel  west,  the  more  I  meet  with  her  public 
men,  the  more  I  am  satisfied  of  the  truthfulness  of  the 

345 


246  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Bible  statement  that  the — wise — men — came — from — 
the — East !" 

Of  course  there  was  great  laughter.  When  President 
Hayes  asked  Mr.  Evarts  afterward  how  he  happened 
to  say  it,  the  Secretary  said  he  couldn't  help  it:  "the 
paradox  struck  me  and  out  it  came." 

There  is  one  other  paradox  as  good  as  Evarts's  and 
that  was  Mark  Twain's  duel  story,  when  he  told  the 
audience  how  opposed  he  was  to  fighting  a  duel. 

"Why,"  said  Mark,  "I  am  so  opposed  to  fighting  a 
duel — so  seriously  and  religiously  opposed  to  fighting 
a  duel — that  I've  made  up  my  mind,  solemnly  and 
earnestly,  that  if  any  one  ever  comes  to  me  and 
challenges  me  to  fight  a  duel,  I'll  take  him  kindly  by 
the  hand,  lead  him  gently  out  behind  the  barn,  take 
an  ax — and  kill  him  !" 

Perhaps  the  best  place  in  the  world  to  hear  good 
stories  is  after  dinner  on  the  back  balcony  of  the  States 
in  Saratoga.  It  is  an  hour  of  rest  and  digestion,  when 
such  story-tellers  as  Governor  Curtin,  Mayor  Latrobe 
of  Baltimore,  Senator  Evarts,  and  Sam  Cox — now  gone 
to  his  reward — are  always  ready  to  furnish  a  salad  of 
wit  and  rich  reminiscence.  It  was  on  one  of  these  oc- 
casions, when  Mr.  Evarts  was  feeling  peculiarly  happy, 
that  I  asked  the  great  lawyer  about  some  of  the  witti- 
cisms which  have  been  attributed  to  him. 

"The  best  thing  the  newspapers  said  I  perpetrated," 
replied  Mr.  Evarts,  "I  wasn't  guilty  of  at  all." 

"What  was  that?"  I  asked. 

"It  happened  when  I  was  Secretary  of  State.  Every 
morning  the  state  department  elevator  came  up  full  of 
applicants  for  foreign  missions.  One  morning,  when 
the  number  of  applicants  was  extremely  large,  Catlin, 


EVARTS— CON  KLLNG— GOVERNOR  HILL.  247 

the  Commercial  Advertiser  humorist,  remarked,  'That 
is  the  largest  collection  for  foreign  missions  you've  had 
yet.'  The  newspapers  attributed  the  saying  to  me,  but 
Catlin  was  the  real  criminal." 

"After  that  you  sent  poor  Catlin  out  of  the  country, 
didn't  you?" 

"Oh,  no.  I  rewarded  him  by  making  him  Consul  at 
Glasgow — and  afterward  promoted  him." 

Speaking  of  Mr.  Evarts's  farm  up  at  Windsor,  I  told 
him  I  understood  that  he  raised  a  large  quantity  of 
pigs  for  the  express  purpose  of  sending  barrels  of  pig 
pork  to  his  friends. 

"Yes,  I  am  guilty  of  that,  Eli,"  said  Mr.  Evarts.  "I 
have  been  sending  Bancroft  pig  pork  for  years,  and  if 
his  'History  of  America'  is  successful,  it  will  be  largely 
due  to  my  pen." 

A  few  years  ago  Mr.  Evarts  sent  his  usual  barrel  of 
pickled  pig  pork  to  Bancroft,  with  this  letter: 

Dear  Bancroft: 

I  am  very  glad  to  send  you  two  products  of  my  pen  to-day — a 
barrel  of  pickled  pig  pork  and  my  Eulogy  on  Chief  Justice  Chase. 

Yours, 

Evarts. 

Chauncey  Depew  says  Evarts  once  sent  a  donkey 
up  to  his  Windsor  farm  in  Vermont.  About  a  week 
afterward  the  great  lawyer  received  the  following  letter 
from  his  little  grandchild : 

Dear  Grandpa : 

The  little  donkey  is  very  gentle,  but  he  makes  a  big  noise  nights. 
He  is  very  lonesome.  I  guess  he  misses  you.  I  hope  you  will 
come  up  soon  and  then  he  won't  be  so  lonesome. 

Minnie. 


248         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Mr.  Evarts  is  very  proud  of  being  descended  directly 
from  Roger  Sherman,  the  Puritan  shoemaker. 

"They  were  good  men,  those  Rhode  Island  Baptists 
were,"  he  said;  "when  they  landed  on  the  free  soil  of 
New  London,  they  praised  God ;  that  is,  they  fell  on 
their  knees;  then  they  fell  on  the  aborigi — nese." 

When  I  asked  the  ex-Secretary  about  the  early 
settlement  of  Rhode  Island,  he  said : 

"Yes,  the  Dutch  settled  Rhode  Island,  and  then  the 
Yankees  settled  the  Dutch." 

Mr.  Evarts,  with  all  his  learning,  has  often  had  to  lis- 
ten to  long  bursts  of  empty  oratory  from  young  and  in- 
experienced lawyers.  Many  years  ago,  when  Governor 
David  B.  Hill  was  practicing  law,  he  had  a  case  where 
Evarts  was  his  opponent.  Hill  was  delivering  his 
maiden  speech.  Like  most  young  lawyers,  he  was 
florid,  rhetorical,  scattering,  and  weary.  For  four  weary 
hours  he  talked  at  the  court  and  the  jury,  until  every- 
body felt  like  lynching  him.  When  he  got  through, 
Mr.  Evarts  deliberately  arose,  looked  sweetly  at  the 
judge,  and  said : 

"Your  Honor,  I  will  follow  the  example  of  the 
distinguished  but  youthful  counsel  on  the  other  side, 
and  submit  the  case  ivitJiont  argument." 

Then  he  sat  down  and  an  awful  silence  took  posses- 
sion of  the  courtroom. 

Roscoe  Conkling  was  a  much  younger  man  than  Mr. 
Evarts,  and  he  always  looked  up  to  the  international 
lawyer  with  admiration.  I  have  often  heard  Mr. 
Conkling  tell  the  story  of  President  Johnson's  impeach- 
ment trial,  and  describe  Evarts's  reply  to  Senator 
Boutwell  of  Massachusetts.  "Boutwell,"  said  Conk- 
ling, "had  just  consigned  the  unfortunate   President  to 


EVARTS    CONKLING— GOVERNOR  HILL.  249 

that   unknown  hole  in  the  sky  for  punishment;  'that 
place,  that  terra  incognita  in   the  sky  where  there  are- 
no  stars,  no  light,  no   life — and   there   let  him  be  1 
fined  through  all  eternity.' 

"  'Yes,'  replied  Evarts,  'it  is  meet,  if  the  innocent 
President  is  to  be  punished,  that  he  be  taken  to  that 
unknown  hole  in  the  sky,  where  there  is  no  law,  where 
there  is  no  justice,  and  where  no  statutes  can  be 
broken.  And  even  now,'  continued  Evarts,  in  one  of 
his  forensic  flights  of  eloquence,  'I  see  the  President, 
the  innocent  President,  passing  up  the  dome  of  the 
Capitol;  his  left  foot  kicks  the  Goddess  of  Liberty, 
and  while  all  the  people  shout: 

Sic  itur  ad  astra, 

Away  he  flies  to  the  stars !' 

"Another  clever  bit  of  shrewd  diplomacy  during 
that  memorable  trial,"  said  Mr.  Conkling,  "occurred 
when  Wm.  S.  Groesbeck,  while  making  the  closing 
speech  for  President  Johnson,  looked  tearfully  at  the 
granger  senators,  and  with  all  the  solemn  tones  of 
Marc  Antony  at  the  funeral  of  Caesar,  said : 

"  'The  President  is  not  a  learn-ed  man,  like  many  of 
you  senators;  his  light  is  the  feeble  light  of  the  Con- 
stitution.' " 

It  was  Groesbeck's  sweet,  sympathetic  speech  that 
acquitted  the  President.  Speaking  of  the  speech  one 
day,  Mr.  Groesbeck  said  :  "It  was  only  a  short  speech — 
say  two-thirds  of  a  column,  and  it  was  really  an  ex- 
temporaneous speech.  Boutwell  and  Evarts  had  been 
talking  for  days  to  the  tired  Senate.  I  had  a  long 
speech  prepared,  but  saw  the  folly  of  using  it.  I  was  full 
of  ideas  and  sympathy,  for  I  liked  Andrew  Johnson." 


250  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Then  that  speech  came  from  your  heart?" 

"Yes,  I  threw  away  all  notes,  gave  up  all  thought  of 
oratory  or  my  own  reputation,  and  lost  myself  in  that 
personal  plea  for  a  friend  who  tried  to  be  as  just  as 
Aristides." 

Chief  Justice  Waite,  who  delighted  to  tell  legal 
stories,  once  told  me  this  story  about  Evarts  and 
Conkling: 

Roscoe  Conkling  came  into  Mr.  Evarts's  office  one 
day,  when  he  was  a  young  lawyer,  in  quite  a  nervous 
state. 

"You  seem  to  be  very  much  excited,  Mr.  Conkling," 
said  Mr.  Evarts,  as  Roscoe  walked  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"Yes,  I'm  provoked — I  am  provoked,"  said  Mr. 
Conkling.  "I  never  had  a  client  dissatisfied  about  my 
fee  before." 

"Well,  what's  the  matter?"  asked  Mr.  Evarts. 

"Why,  I  defended  Gibbons  for  arson,  you  know. 
He  was  convicted,  but  I  did  hard  work  for  him.  I 
took  him  to  the  Superior  Court  and  he  was  convicted, 
then  on  to  the  Supreme  Court,  and  the  Supreme 
Court  confirmed  the  judgment  and  gave  him  ten  years 
in  the  Penitentiary.  I  charged  him  $3000,  and  now 
Gibbons  is  grumbling  about  it — says  it's  too  much. 
Now,  Mr.  Evarts,  I  ask  you  if  I  really  charged  too 
much?" 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Evarts,  very  deliberately,  "of 
course  you  did  a  good  deal  of  work,  and  $3000  is  not 
a  very  big  fee,  but  to  be  frank  with  you,  Mr.  Conk- 
ling, my  deliberate  opinion  is — that — he — might — 
have — been — convicted— {ox — less — money." 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER'S  HUMOR. 


He  Makes   Fun    of  his  Poverty — His   Joke   on   Dana — His   Everyday 
Humorous  Talk  and  Life. 

DID    you    know    Henry  Ward   Beecher  personally?" 
asked  a  reporter  of  me. 

"Quite  well.  I've  talked  with  him  by  the  hour  at 
his  home,  on  the  railroads,  and  at  my  own  house  in 
New  York.  He  was  always  ready  to  talk  with  every 
man  who  had  an  idea  or  a  good  story.  He  hated 
cranks,  and  they  were  always  calling  on  him." 

"What  did  he  do  with  them?" 

"He  always  turned  them  over  to  Mrs.  Beecher  with 
the  remark,  'Mother,  you  take  care  of  this  interesting 
man.'  Beecher  liked  to  talk  of  his  early  poverty.  He 
always  treated  poverty  in  a  humorous  vein.  'Once,' 
he  said,  'I  was  the  poorest  man  in  Lawrenceburg,  Ind., 
where  I  supplied  my  first  church,  away  back  in  1839. 
I  was  so  poor  that  I  couldn't  buy  firewood  to  keep 
us  warm,  without  going  without  books.  I  remember 
one  Sunday  morning  there  came  a  big  flood  in  the 
Ohio.  I  was  preaching  at  the  time,  and  I  looked  out 
of  the  window  and  saw  the  floodwood  go  sailing  by 
my  house.  It  seemed  wrong  for  me  to  see  so  much 
good  wood  going  by  and  I  not  able  to  catch  it.' 

"  'What  did  you  do?'  I  asked. 
'Why,  I  rushed  that  sermon  through,  hurried  home, 
and  that  afternoon,  with  the  aid  of  Deacon  Anderson,  I 

251 


252  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

got  out  enough  driftwood  to  keep  Mrs.  Beecher  in 
firewood  for  three  months,  and  all  the  while,'  he  said, 
looking  up  and  smiling  at  his  wife,  'Mother  stood  in 
the  doorway  and  cheered  us  on.' 

"  'In  1838,'  said  Mr.  Beecher,  'I  was  so  poor  that 
I  rode  clear  to  Fort  Wayne  from  Indianapolis  on 
horseback  and  delivered  a  lecture  for  $25.  Then  I 
went  to  New  York  to  attend  the  Congregational  Con- 
vention. While  in  New  York  I  went  to  Dr.  Prime,  of 
the  Observer,  and  offered  to  write  weekly  letters  from 
the  West  at  a  dollar  apiece.' 

"  'Did  Prime  take  you  up?' 

"  'Yes — and  paid  me  $5  in  advance.' 
'  'And  you  actually  wrote  for  a  dollar  a  column?' 

"'No,' said  Mr.  Beecher,  laughing;  'the  next  day 
Prime  thought  it  over,  repented  of  his  haste  and 
profligacy,  and  wrote  me  that  he  did  not  think  my 
letters  would  be  worth  it.  But,  oh,'  he  groaned,  turn- 
ing to  Mrs.  Beecher,  'it  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to 
us — wasn't  it,  mother?'" 

One  day,  speaking  of  puns,  Mr.  Beecher  said  Mrs. 
Beecher  received  one  on  his  name  that  was  very 
complete.  Then  Mrs.  Beecher  went  and  got  an  old 
scrap  book  and  read  : 

"  Said  a  great  Congregational  preacher 
To  a  hen,  '  you're  a  beautiful  creature  ! ' 
The  hen,  just  for  that,  laid  three  eggs  in  his  hat, 
And  thus  did  the  Henry  Ward  Beecher." 

Mr.  Beecher  never  cared  to  be  called  a  humorist, 
but  his  wit  and  humor  were  as  keen  as  his  logic.  He 
never  strayed  away  from  his  train  of  thought  to  gather 
in  a  witty  idea  to  illustrate  his  sermons.     Neither  did 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER' S  HUMOR.  253 

he  avoid  wit.     When  a  witty  idea  stood  before  him, 

he  grasped  it  and  bent  it  to  illustrate  his  thought. 
His  conception  of  wit  was  as  quick  as  lightning.  It 
came  like  a  flash  (often  in  a  parenthesis),  and  it  often 
instantly  changed  the  tears  of  his  hearers  to  laughter. 

When  Dr.  Collycr  asked  the  great  preacher  why  the 
newspapers  were  always  referring  to  the  Plymouth 
Brethren,  but  never  spoke  of  the  Plymouth  sisters,  he 
could  not  help  saying: 

"Why,  of  course,  the  brethren  embrace  the  sisters!" 

Mr.  Wm.  M.  Evarts  was  once  talking  with  General 
Grant  about  the  great  Brooklyn  divine,  when  suddenly 
the  distinguished  lawyer  musingly  asked: 

"Why  is  it,  General,  that  a  little  fault  in  a  clergy- 
man attracts  more  notice  than  a  great  fault  in  an 
ordinary  man?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  general  thoughtfully,  "it  is  for 
the  same  reason  that  a  slight  shadow  passing  over  the 
pure  snow  is  more  readily  seen,  than  a  river  of  dirt  on 
the  black  earth." 

In  all  of  his  humor,  Mr.  Beecher  never  harmed  a 
human  soul.  His  mirth  was  innocent,  and  his  wit  was 
for  a  grand  purpose. 

I  was  talking  with  Mr.  Beecher  one  day  about 
humor.  He  was  always  ready  to  talk  to  any  man  who 
had  a  good  idea  or  a  good  story,  but  he  wanted  the 
story  to  be  as  pure  as  a  parable.  He  wanted  it  to 
prove  or  illustrate  some  idea. 

"Humor,"  said  Beecher,  "is  everywhere.  Humor  is 
truth.  If  I  describe  a  monkey  or  a  crow  truthfully  it 
will  be  humor." 

"Well,  describe  a  crow,"  I  said,  "and  see  if  it  will  be 
funny." 


254         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"A  crow,"  said  Beecher,  "is  like  a  man.  He  is  lazy, 
and  that  is  human;  he  is  cunning,  and  that  is  human. 
He  thinks  his  own  color  the  best,  and  loves  to  hear  his 
own  voice,  which  are  eminent  traits  of  humanity.  He 
will  never  work  when  he  can  get  another  to  work 
for  him — a  genuine  human  trait. 

"Even  John  Bunyan,"  continued  the  preacher,  "was 
a  humorist.  It  was  humor  when  Bunyan  made  Chris- 
tian meet  one  'Atheist'  trudging  along  with  his  back  to 
the  Celestial  City. 

"  'Where  are  you  going?'  asked  Atheist,  laughing  at 
Christian. 

"  'To  the  Celestial  City,'  replied  Christian,  his  face 
all  aglow  with  the  heavenly  light. 

"  'You  fool !'  said  Atheist,  laughing,  as  he  trudged  on 
into  the  darkness.  'I've  been  hunting  for  that  place 
for  twenty  years  and  have  seen  nothing  of  it  yet. 
Plainly  it  does  not  exist.' 

"Heaven  was  behind  him,"  said  Beecher  seriously. 

Mr.  Beecher  took  immense  delight  in  his  Peekskill 
farm,  though  it  was  an  expensive  luxury.  He  had  a 
thousand  flowers  and  a  thousand  shrubs,  and  he  knew 
every  one  of  them.  They  were  his  pets.  Sometimes 
he  would  get  up  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
when  Mrs.  Beecher  asked  him  where  he  was  going,  he 
would  say : 

"I'm  going  to  talk  with  my  flowers,  mother." 

If  any  one  asked  him  about  the  revenue  of  his  farm, 
he  would  say,  "Oh,  I  get  that  in  health  and  joy,  and 
in  texts  for  my  books  and  sermons !" 

Mr.  Beecher  was  forgiving.  He  even  forgave  Mr. 
Dana,  who  said  so  many  bitter  things  about  him.     Still, 


HENRY  WARD  BEECHER'S  HUMOR.  255 

he  forgave  him  as  you  forgive  your  child  after  you 
have  boxed  its  ears. 

About  the  last  thing  I  heard  him  say  about  Mr. 
Dana  was  this: 

"Brother  Dana  said  a  smart  thing  to-day,  Eli." 

"What  was  it?"   I  asked. 

"When  they  were  discussing  at  the  editorial  conven- 
tion what  was  proper  to  put  in  a  newspaper,  Dana 
said,  'Well,  gentlemen,  I  don't  know  what  you  think, 
but  I'm  willing  to  permit  a  report  of  anything  in  my 
paper  that  the  Lord  permits  to  happen.'  But  in  my 
case,"  said  Beecher,  laughing,  "Dana  goes  away  be- 
yond Providence." 


GOUGH'S  WIT  AND  PATHOS. 


His  Fall  and  Rise — Many  Gough   Anecdotes — How  he  made  his  Audi- 
ences Weep  and  Laugh — Cigars  in  his  Hat. 

JOHN  B.  GOUGH  always  amused  me.  We  have 
often  crossed  paths  in  the  lecture  field,  and  often 
exchanged  stories  on  the  cars  by  the  hour.  Gough 
was  always  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  at  the  same 
time  he  was  a  cheerful  companion.  Mr.  Gough  was 
a  capital  story-teller,  and  his  greatest  lectures  were 
only  a  repetition  of  his  every-day  stories.  He  was  so 
pure  and  had  so  many  enemies  among  the  intemperate 
classes  that  the  faintest  breath  of  scandal  broke  his 
heart.  One  time  in  Cleveland,  Griswold,  the  "Fat 
Contributor,"  and  "Nasby,"  wrote  a  humorous  article 
about  going  on  a  spree  with  Gough,  and  the  article, 
though  humorous,  and  intended  for  a  joke,  troubled 
Gough  for  weeks.  I  can  say  I  actually  know  that 
Gough,  after  breaking  the  pledge  once,  repented  and 
again  signed  it  in  1844,  and  kept  it  zealously  afterward 
till  he  died. 

In  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Gough  in  St.  Joseph, 
Mo.,  in  1883,  I  asked  the  great  temperance  man  where 
he  was  born? 

"I  am  an  Englishman,"  said  Gough.  "I  was  born 
August  22,  18 1 7,  at  Sandygate,  on  the  road  between 
London  and  Dover,  near  Folkestone.  There  I  used  to 
roam  through  the  hop  yards  of   Kent,  celebrate  Guy 

256 


GOUG/f'S  WIT  AND  PATHOS.  -57 

Fawkes's  day,  and   cat   hot    cross  buns  on  Good   Fri- 
day.     Here    Wilbcrforcc,    the    great     philanthropist, 
often  patted  me  on  the  head." 
"When  did  you  come  to  America?"  I  asked. 

"Let's  see;  it  was  August  4,  1829.  I  rode  in  a  stage- 
coach to  London,  stayed  there  till  June  10,  and  took 
the  ship  Helen  for  New  York,  arriving  there  August  3, 
fifty-four  days  on  the  ocean.  I  rode  up  the  Hudson 
in  a  steamboat  and  took  the  canal  to  a  farm  near 
Vernon  Centre,  Oneida  County,  N.  Y.  After  two 
years  on  the  farm,  I  returned  to  New  York  and  engaged 
with  the  Methodist  Book  Concern  on  Crosby  Street  to 
learn  the  trade  of  bookbinder.  My  mother  and  sister 
joined  me  here,  but  business  becoming  slack  I  lost  my 
situation.  I  became  intemperate,  and  we  all  became 
very  poor.  My  mother  died  and  was  actually  buried 
in  the  Potter's  field  without  a  shroud !" 

"It  was  then  you  got  to  drinking,  wasn't  it?"  I 
asked. 

"Yes,  I  did  it  to  drown  my  troubles.  Often  I  went 
through  the  streets  asking  for  work.  'Please  let  me 
saw  your  wood?' 

"  'Where  is  your  buck-saw?' 

"  'I  have  none.  Please  let  me  carry  your  coal  down 
cellar?' 

"  'Where  are  your  shovel  and  basket?' 

"  'I  have  none.' 

"And  so  I  lost  my  job  for  lack  of  implements  and 
tools.  Having  been  poor  myself,  do  you  wonder  why 
I  am  always  sympathizing  with  them?" 

"When  did  you  stop  drinking?"  I  asked. 

"In  1842,  after  I  had  been  a  drunkard  for  years.  I 
signed  the  pledge  in  Worcester,  Mass.,  which   I  have 


258  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

kept,  with  one  exception,  all  my  life.  After  that  one 
false  step  I  signed  the  pledge  again.  My  friends  took 
me  back,  and  I  have  consecrated  my  life  to  the  cause 
of  temperance.  Oh,  I  could  fill  a  book  with  amusing 
and  affecting  scenes  that  I  have  witnessed.  I  find 
every  man  can  be  touched  through  kindness." 

"What  was  the  most  pathetic  scene  you  ever  wit- 
nessed?" I  asked. 

"It  was  on  the  steamer  Daniel  Drezv,  coming  up  the 
Hudson  the  other  day.  In  the  cabin  sat  a  sad,  serious- 
looking  man,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  have  been  a 
clerk  or  bookkeeper.  The  man  seemed  to  be  caring 
for  a  crying  baby,  and  was  doing  everything  he  could 
to  still  its  sobs.  As  the  child  became  restless  in  the 
berth,  the  gentleman  took  it  in  his  arms  and  carried  it 
to  and  fro  in  the  cabin.  The  sobs  of  the  child  irritated 
a  rich  man,  who  was  trying  to  read,  until  he  blurted 
out  loud  enough  for  the  father  to  hear: 

'What  does  he  want  to  disturb  the  whole  cabin  with 
that  d baby  for?' 

"  'Hush,  baby  ;  hush  !'  and  then  the  man  only  nestled 
the  baby  closer  in  his  arms  without  saying  a  word. 
Then  the  baby  sobbed  again. 

'"Where  is  the  confounded  mother  that  she  don't 
stop  its  noise?'  continued  the  profane  grumbler. 

"At  this,  the  grief-stricken  father  came  up  to  the 
man,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  said,  T  am  sorry  to 
disturb  you,  sir,  but  my  dear  baby's  mother  is  in  her 
coffin  down  in  the  baggage  room.  I'm  taking  her  back 
to  her  grandmother  in  Albany,  where  we  used  to 
live.' 

"The  hard-hearted  man  buried  his  face  in  shame,  but 
in  a  moment,  wilted  by  the  terrible  rebuke,  he  was  by 


GOUGirs  WIT  AND  PATHOS.  259 

the  side  of  the  grief-stricken  father.     They  were  both 
tending  the  baby." 

"Do  you  ever  tell  funny  stories  about  drunkards?"  I 
asked. 

"Yes.  It  rests  an  audience.  I  used  to  tell  about  a 
drunken  fellow  who  fell  down  a  flight  of  thirty  stairs 
in  Erie,  Pa.     When  a  man  came  to  help  him,  he  said  : 

"  'Go  away,  I  don't  want  any  help ;  that's  'she  way  I 
alius  come  down  stairs.' 

"The  Bishop  of  Rhode  Island  told  me  he  once  saw  a 
man,  whom  he  had  known  years  before,  very  drunk  by 
the  side  of  the  road.     He  went  to  him  and  said  : 

'My  poor  fellow,  I  am  really  sorry  for  you,'  and 
went  away.  By  and  by  he  heard  the  man  call,  'Bishop, 
Bishop  !'     So  he  went  back. 

"  'Now,'  he  said,  'Bishop,  if  you  are  very  sorry  and 
you  will  say  so  again,  I  will  forgive  you.' 

"We  laugh  at  such  drolleries  and  at  such  vagaries  as 
we  do  at  the  man  who  came  home  at  four  o'clock  in 
the  morning  and  said  it  was  but  one. 

'  'But,'  said  his  wife,  'the  clock  has  just  struck  four.' 

"  'I  know  better,  for  I  heard  it  strike  one — repeatedly. f ' 

"What  other  funny  incident  do  you  remember?" 

"You  have  heard  of  the  man  who  went  into  his 
house  in  the  dark,  haven't  you?" 

"What  about  him?" 

"Well,  he  had  been  drinking  and  was  very  thirsty. 
He  groped  about  for  the  water  pitcher  and  found  it. 
He  lifted  it  to  his  mouth  and  began  to  drink  very 
rapidly.  One  of  his  children  had  dropped  a  soft  ball 
of  yarn  into  the  pitcher,  and  in  his  hurry  he  swallowed 
it.  He  felt  something  very  disagreeable  and  strange, 
and  he  became  frightened,  and  dropped  the  pitcher. 


260  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"  'Oh,  dear;  oh,  dear;  oh  dear!'  He  caught  hold  of 
the  end  of  the  yarn,  and  in  great  affright  began  to 
draw  it  from  his  mouth. 

"'Wife,  wife/  he  shouted,  'hurry  up,  hurry  up,  /';// 
all  unraveling!' " 


A  NIGHT  WITH  JOLLY   REBELS. 


Eli  Talks  to  Old  Rebel  Soldiers— Stories  of  old  Zeb  Vance,  Fitz  Hugh 
Lee,  Judge  Olds,  Tom  Allen,  and  Bob  Toombs — The  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutchman  and  Freedman  Bureau  School  Marm. 

I^YVTCE  I  have  been  called  to  lecture  before  old 
Wofford  College  in  Spartansburg,  S.  C.  This  is 
an  historic  institution,  beloved  by  thousands  of  alumni 
all  over  the  South.  I  always  have  a  good  time  in  the 
South,  for  the  people  are  bright  and  heartily  enjoy 
pure  humor.  But  the  last  time  I  was  there  strange 
things  happened.  A  band  of  old  Confederates,  who 
knew  I  was  a  Grand  Army  man,  invited  me  to  a 
banquet.  After  the  banquet  they  demanded  a  speech. 
It  was  a  speech  of  an  old  Yank  soldier  to  a  crowd  of 
jolly  rebs.  I  commenced  telling  them  some  of  our 
good  old  Yankee  war  stories.  I  told  them  about  a 
big  cannon  that  they  cast  for  West  Point. 

"How  did  it  work?"  interrupted  a  rebel  voice. 

"Well,  it  carried  the  biggest  ball " 

"How  did  it  work?"  interrupted  another  voice. 

"Well,  as  I  was  saying,  they  shot  that  cannon  off, 
but  the  ball  was  so  large  that  it  stood  right  still,  and 
the  cannon  went  twelve  miles.  [Laughter,  and  a  voice, 
"Tell  us  about  Sherman's  bummers!"] 

"The  difference  between  a  true  soldier  and  a 
bummer,"  I  said,  "is  this:  the  true  soldier  drew  his 
sword  in  the  cause  of  right  and  country,  while  the 
bummer  drew  his  sword  in  a  raffle. 

261 


262  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"  I  know  of  but  one  place  where  the  true  soldier  and 
the  bummer  bore  any  resemblance.  In  the  face  of  the 
enemy,  when  the  balls  flew  thick  and  fast  around  him, 
the  soldier's  voice  was  still  for,  war,  and  it  was  then 
that  the  bummer's  voice  was  still  for  war — awful  still. 
[Laughter.] 

"The  last  thing  Lord  Nelson  did  was  to  die  for  his 
country,  and  that  will  be  the  last  thing  the  bummer 
will  do.     [Laughter.] 

"Horace  Porter  says,  'The  bummer  went  to  the  war, 
fully  equipped  for  "everything  from  squirrel  hunting 
to  manslaughter  in  the  first  degree,"  and  his  trousers 
were  so  loose  and  baggy  that  he  could  get  over  a 
barbed  wire  fence  without  scratching  himself.  When 
he  wanted  fuel  on  the  march  he  took  only  the  top  rail 
of  the  fence,  and  he  kept  on  taking  the  top  rail  as  long 
as  there  was  any  fence  left.'     [Laughter.] 

"And  now  the  bummer  who  got  wounded  by  a 
chicken  bone  in  his  throat  at  Fairfax  Court  House, 
while  the  other  brave  soldiers  were  storming  Chancel- 
lorsville ;  who  got  dyspepsia  eating  sardines  and  jam 
with  the  Sanitary  Commissioners  in  Baltimore,  while 
the  true  soldier  was  losing  his  arms  and  legs  at  Gettys- 
burg, where  is  he  now?  Why,  he  is  in  Washington 
working  for  a  pension." 

[A  voice  from  the  audience.  "Tell  us  some  rebel 
stories — we  had  more  fun  than  the  Yanks."] 

"That's  right,"  I  said.  "There  is  no  better  way  to 
heal  old  wounds  than  to  laugh  together  over  old  war 
stories. 

"You  all  know  old  General  Zebulon  Vance — old 
Zeb,  of  the  Army  of  Virginia?" 


A  NIGHT  WITH  JOLLY  REBELS.  263 

"You  bet  we  do — three  cheers  for  old  Zeb  Vance !" 
[Given  with  a  will.] 

"Well,  old  Zeb  received  a  squad  of  raw  rebel  recruits 
from  the  mountains  of  North  Carolina,  and  during  the 
skirmishes  around  Washington  ordered  them  into  bat- 
tle for  the  first  time. 

"  'Take  a  stand  on  Monson's  Hill,'  he  said,  'and 
scare  these  Yanks  away!' 

" 'Skcer  them  Yanks  off!'  repeated  the  sergeant; 
'why,  we  'uns  kem  all  the  way  heah  from  North  Kaya- 
lena  ter  whip  them  Yanks,  an*  ef  we  skeer  'urn  off 
how'n  thunder  ez  we  gwine  to  lick  'urn?'     [Laughter.] 

"During  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run  a  squad  of 
these  same  North  Carolina  recruits  captured  a  Penn- 
sylvania Dutchman.  He  had  to  give  up  after  he  had 
shot  his  last  cartridge.  As  the  rebels  came  on  to  him 
they  shouted  : 

"'Here!  what  you  doin'  here?' 

"'Fightin'!'  said  the  Dutchman. 

"'Where  do  you  belong?' 

"'Up  in  Pennsylvania.' 

"  'What  are  you  doing  down  here?' 

"  'Veil,  I  comes  down  here  to  fight.' 

"'To  fight,  eh?'  said  the  Virginians;  'why  don't  you 
fight  up  in  Pennsylvania  if  you  want  to  fight?  What 
business  have  you  got  coming  down  into  our  State  to 
fight  ?* 

"  'Veil,  I  corned  mit  der  poys.' 

"'Well,  you  just  light  out  for  home!'  screamed  the 
rebels,  'and  if  we  ever  catch  you  down  here  fighting 
again  we'll  make  it  hot  for  you  !' 

"  'Veil,  veil,  veil,'  said  the  German.     'Oxscuse  me, 


264         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

gentlemen,  I  tought  ven   I   fights  mit  Uncle  Sam  he 
goes  efryvere.'     [Laughter.] 

"About  a  week  after  this,  one  of  these  same  North 
Carolina  recruits  was  on  picket  duty  near  Manassas. 
There  was  not  a  Yankee  within  twenty  miles  of  him 
at  that  time.  The  next  day  there  was  to  be  an  inspec- 
tion, and  the  North  Carolinian  had  taken  his  gun  all  to 
pieces  and  was  rubbing  it  up  so  as  to  make  a  shine 
when  inspected.  While  doing  this  General  Barham 
rode  up. 

'What  are  you  doing  there?'  said  General  B. 

"  'Oh,  I  am  a  kind  of  a  sentinel.  Who  are  you,  any- 
how ?' 

'  'Oh,  I  am  only  a  "kind"  of  a  brigadier-general,'  was 
the  answer. 

"  'Hold  on,'  said  the  sentinel;  'wait  until  I  get  this 
darned  old  gun  together  and  I  will  give  you  a  kind  of 
a  present  arms.'     [Laughter.] 

"There  used  to  be  a  good  deal,  or  rather,  I  should 
say,  heaps  of  fun  and  repartee  between  the  Yankee 
officers  and  the  returning  rebel  prisoners  at  Rich- 
mond. 

"A  cart  load  of  these  returning  rebels  had  just 
arrived  at  City  Point  on  their  way  back  to  Rich- 
mond. 

"  'How  fah  is  it  to  Richmond,  enny  way?'  asked  a 
grizzled  old  rebel  prisoner  of  a  smart  Yankee  major  on 
Butler's  staff. 

"  'Oh,  not  far.     How  far  do  you  think?' 

"  'Reck'n  et's  near  ento  three  thousin'  mile,'  drawled 
the  Confed.  weakly. 

"  'Nonsense !  You  must  be  crazy,'  retorted  the  officer, 
staring. 


A  NIGHT  WITH  JOLLY  REBELS.  265 

"  'Wall,  I  cant  a-rcck'nin'  adzact,'  was  the  slow 
reply.     'Jest  tho't  so,  kinder.' 

"'Oh,  you  did!     And  pray  why?' 

"  'Cos  et's  took'n  you  'uns  nigh  onto  fo'  year  to  git 
thar  from  Wash'nton.'     [Laughter.] 

"You  old  rebels  will  appreciate  this  story  about  the 
Yankee  freedman  schoolmarm  better  than  the  average 
Northerner.* 

"In  1864,  when  they  began  to  have  freedman  schools 
around  Richmond,  a  Massachusetts  teacher  was  teach- 
ing the  freedmen  the  new  doctrine  of  political  equality. 
The  negroes,  you  know,  can  never  separate  political 
equality  from  social  equality,  so  when  the  teacher 
said,  'We  are  all  born  free  and  equal,' Clarissa  Sophia 
broke  in : 

'Wa'  dat  yo's  sain',  now?     Yo'  say  Ise  jes  ekal  as 
yo*  is?' 

"'Yes,'  said  the  teacher,  'and  I  can  prove  it!' 

"Ho!  'Tain't  no  need,'  replied  the  lately  dis- 
enthralled. 'Reck'n  I  is,  sho'  miff.  But  does  yo'  say 
dat  Ise  good  as  missus — my  missus?' 

"  'Certainly  you  are,  Sophia,'  said  the  teacher. 

"'Den  Ise  jess  gwine  out  yere,  rite  off!'  cried 
Sophia,  suiting  action  to  word.  'Ef  Ise  good  as  my 
missus  Ise  goin'  ter  quit,  for  I  jess  know  she  ent  'soshi- 
atin'  wid  no  sich  wite  trash  like  you  is!'    [Laughter.] 

'The  best  and  brightest  remark  ever  made  by  that 
old  rebel,  whom  you  all  love,  Fitz  Hugh  Lee,  was  made 
in  a  political  meeting  in  Alexandria  after  the  war. 

"Colonel  Moseby,  your  only  fully  reconstructed 
rebel,  was  making  a  political  speech  in  the  Court 
House. 

'Talk   about    my    war    record,'  said    the   colonel. 


266         ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

'Why,  my  war  record  is  a  part  of  the  State's  history. 
Why,  gentlemen,  I  carried  the  last  Confederate  flag 
through  this  very  town.' 

"'Yes,'  replied  Fitz  Hugh  Lee,  'for  I  was  here  at 
the  time.' 

"  'Thank  you  for  your  fortunate  recollection,'  grate- 
fully exclaimed  Moseby.  '  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that 
there  still  live  some  men  who  move  aside  envy  and 
testify  to  the  courage  of  their  fellow  beings.  As  I  say, 
gentlemen,  my  war  record  is  a  part  of  the  State's  his- 
tory, for  the  gentleman  here  will  tell  you  that  I  car- 
ried the  last  Confederate  flag  through  this  town.' 

"'That's  a  fact,' said  Fitz  Hugh  Lee.  T  saw  him 
do  it.  He  carried  the  Confederate  flag  through  this 
town,  but  Kilpatrick  and  Ellsworth  were  after  him, 
and  he  carried  it  so  blamed  fast  you  couldn't  have  told 
whether  it  was  the  Confederate  flag  or  a  small-pox 
warning.'     [Laughter.] 

"Speaking  of  rebel  repartee,  the  worst  stab  our  old 
Yankee  Radical,  Thad  Stevens,  ever  got  was  given  to 
him  by  your  old  fire-eating  Bob  Toombs,  of  Georgia. 
They  met  in  Augusta  after  the  war.  Thad  was  rank- 
ling over  the  loss  of  his  Carlisle  furnaces,  burned  by 
the  rebs  in  '63,  and  Toombs  was  rankling  at  every- 
thing in  general. 

"  'Well,  Mr.  Toombs,'  said  old  Thad,  in  a  bantering 
tone,  'how  do  you  rebels  feel  after  being  licked  by  the 
Yankees?' 

"'We  feel,  I  suppose,  a  good  deal  as  Lazarus  did,' 
said  the  Georgia  fire-eater. 

'"How  is  that?' 

"  'Why,  Thad,  poor  Lazarus  was  licked  by  the  dogs, 
wasn't  he?'     [Laughter.] 


A  NIGHT  WITH  JOLLY  REBELS.  267 

"The  difference  between  a  Democrat  and  a  rebel  was 
nicely  illustrated  by  the  reply  of  a  culprit  in  the  Rich- 
mond courts. 

"Judge  Olds  was  examining  an  old  soldier  who  had 
pleaded  guilty  of  bank  robbery. 

"  'Did  you  have  any  confederates?'  asked  the 
judge. 

"  'No,  Jedge,'  said  the  prisoner,  'the  fellers  that 
helped  me  was  Democrats,  o'  course,  but  they  wasn't 
rebs.'     [Laughter.] 

"Colonel  Tom  August,  of  the  First  Virginia,  was  the 
Charles  Lamb  of  Confederate  war  wits;  genial,  quick, 
and  ever  gay.  Early  in  secession  days,  a  bombastic 
friend  approached  Colonel  Tom  with  the  query: 

"  'Well,  sir,  I  presume  your  voice  is  still  for  war?' 

"To  which  the  wit  replied  promptly :  'Oh,  yes, 
devilish  still !' 

"Later,  when  the  skies  looked  darkest  and  rumors 
of  abandoning  Richmond  were  wildly  flying,  Colonel 
August  was  limping  up  the  street.  A  quid  nunc  hailed 
him  : 

"  'Well !  The  city  is  to  be  given  up.  They're  mov- 
ing the  medical  stores.' 

"  'Glad  of  it !'  called  back  Colonel  Tom,  'I'm  glad  the 
damn  Yankees  are  going  to  get  all  that  blue  mass.' 
[Laughter.] 

"Tom  Allen,  of  Mississippi,  who  always  carried  a 
load  of  rebel  stories,  told  me  that  a  man  in  the  Fifth 
Mississippi  regiment  was  noted  for  running  away  from 
every  fight.  On  one  occasion  his  captain  found  him  in 
line  as  an  unexpected  attack  opened.  Standing  behind 
him,  the  captain  drew  his  pistol  and  said  : 

"  'Now,  John,  up  to  this  time  you  have  run   from 


268  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

every  fight.  You  have  disgraced  yourself  on  all  occa- 
sions. Now,  if  you  stir  from  the  line  this  time  I  in- 
tend to  shoot  you  dead.  I  shall  stand  here,  right  be- 
hind you,  and  if  you  start  to  run  I  shall  certainly  kill 
you.' 

"John  heard  the  captain  through,  and,  drawing  him- 
self up  to  an  unusual  height,  replied: 

"  'Wall,  Captain,  you  may  shoot  me  if  you  like,  but 
I'll  never  give  any  low-lived,  low-down  Yankee  the 
privilege  of  doing  it.' 

"At  Murfreesboro  a  rebel  soldier  was  rushing  to  the 
rear  with  all  the  speed  he  could  command.  An  officer 
hailed  him  and  sneeringly  inquired  why  he  was  running 
so  fast  away  from  the  Yankees.  The  soldier,  without 
stopping,  yelled  back: 

"  '  Because  I  can't  fly.'  "     [Laughter.] 

[A  voice  from  the  audience.  "Did  you  kill  any 
rebels,  Eli?"] 

"Kill  rebels?"  said  Eli.  "Kill  'em  myself?  No,  not 
exactly;  but  my  Uncle  William  did.  We  marched 
out  to  Bull  Run  with  Fitz  John  Porter,  Uncle  Wil- 
liam and  I  did,  and  when  we  got  about  half  way  there 
we  met  a  rebel  in  ambush.  He  pulled  out  his  revolver ; 
Uncle  William  and  I  pulled  out  our  bowie  knives,  and 
then  we  both  took  the  lead  from  the  start  and  kept  it 
clear  into  Washington  City.     [Laughter.] 

"When  we  reached  Long  Bridge  there  were  hundreds 
of  dead  rebels  behind  us.  They  had  run  themselves 
clear  out  of  breath  and  died  from  overexertion. 

"That  battle  of  Gettysburg,  too,  was  another  terrible 
battle.  Uncle  William  was  there  too,  boldly  fighting 
for  three  days — sometimes  on  one  side  and  sometimes 
on  the  other.     [Laughter.] 


A  NIGHT  WITH  JOLLY  REBELS.  269 

"I  can  see  my  Uncle  William,  with  my  mind's  eye, 
fighting  at  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  even  as  I  saw  him 
with  my  real  eye  fighting  at  the  battle  of  Manassas,  for 
I  too  was  there — fighting  for  my  country;  and  while 
that  sanguinary  conflict  was  at  its  height,  and  while 
the  leaden  messengers  of  Death  flew  thick  and  fast 
around  me,  I — I  left.  [Laughter.]  I  narrowly  es- 
caped a  mortal  wound — just  by  not  being  there. 

"At  one  time  I  saw  a  brigade  of  rebels  coming  up 
on  the  right,  another  brigade  coming  up  on  the  left, 
and  I  just  stepped  aside  and  let  'em  come  up. 
[Laughter.] 

"Alas!  my  uncle  afterward  fell  in  the  battle  of  the 
Wilderness — but  he  got  up  again.  [Laughter.]  He 
said  he  didn't  want  to  stand  there  and  interfere  with 
the  bullets.     [Laughter.] 

"Yes,  my  uncle  was  a  patriotic  man;  he  loved  the 
glorious  stars  and  stripes,  loved  to  rally  round  the 
dear  old  flag,  and  he  said  he  was  willing  to  leave  the 
thickest  of  the  fight  any  time — just  to  go  to  the  rear 
and  rally  around  it !"     [Loud  laughter.] 


POLITICAL    ANECDOTES   AND    INCIDENTS. 


General  Butler  and  Sam  Cox — Geo.  W.  Curtis's  Anti-climax — Garfield's 
Irishman — McKinley's  Interruption — General  Alger's  Story  on  the 
Democrat — Blaine's  Kilmaroo  Story — Eli  on  the  Prohibitionist — 
Horr  on  the  Mugwumps — Dan  Voorhees  on  the  Darky — Lincoln  on 
Ben  Wade — Voorhees  on  Tanner — Ben  Wade  Disgraces  a  Democrat 
— Aristippus,  the  Greek  Politician. 

MANY  a  political  orator  has  been  totally  routed  in 
the  middle  of  a  campaign  speech  by  an  inter- 
ruption from  a  shrewd  opponent.  Many  times  have  the 
oldest  debaters  in  Congress  been  put  hors  de  combat  by 
a  shrewd  question  or  a  quaint  motion  by  a  shrewd 
opponent.  It  was  thus  that  Sam  Cox  was  enabled  to 
squelch  General  Butler  after  he  had  ridiculed  the 
member  from  Ohio,  in  1865,  with  his  famous: 

"Shoo  fly,  don't  bodder  me!" 

Not  long  after  this,  Butler  had  been  making  a  long 
speech  on  the  tariff.  Everybody  was  tired,  but  Ben 
would  suffer  no  one  to  interrupt  him.  In  fact,  by  the 
courtesy  of  the  House,  no  one  can  interrupt  a  speaker 
unless  to  ask  a  question,  and  that  with  the  consent  of 
the  Speaker.  So  Butler  continued  his  tariff  harangue. 
After  about  an  hour  had  passed,  Mr.  Cox  arose  and 
said  in  a  loud  tone: 

"Mr.  Speaker!" 

"The  gentleman  from  Ohio,"  said  the  Speaker. 

"I  arise,"  said  Mr.  Cox,  "on  a  question  of  privilege. 

270 


POLITICAL  ANECDOTES  AND  INCIDENTS.         271 

I    wish  to  ask  the  gentleman   from    Massachusetts  a 
question." 

"The  gentleman  from  Ohio,"  said  the  Speaker,  turn- 
ing to  Butler,  "wishes  to  ask  the  gentleman  from 
Massachusetts  a  question." 

"Very  well,  go  on!"  said  Butler. 

"The  gentleman  from  Ohio  has  the  floor,"  said  the 
Speaker. 

Mr.  Cox  then  arose  solemnly,  and  said: 

"Mr.  Speaker,  I  wish  to  ask  the  gentleman  from 
Massachusetts  a  question.  I  wish  to  ask  him  if  he 
hasn't — hasn't — got — m-o-s-t  t-Ji-r-o-u-g-h?" 

Of  course  the  laughter  that  followed  completely  up- 
set Butler,  and  he  closed  the  debate. 

It  was  seldom  that  so  finished  an  orator  as  George 
VV.  Curtis  ever  made  a  mistake ;  but  Mark  Twain  told 
me  of  a  little  incident  that  happened  with  Mr.  Curtis 
at  Hartford: 

"Mr.  Curtis,"  said  Mark,  "was  selected  to  make  the 
final  speech,  in  Hartford,  in  Lincoln's  Presidential  cam- 
paign in  1 86 1.  It  was  the  night  before  the  election,  and 
Mr.  Curtis  was  in  a  hurry  to  catch  a  train.  The  great 
opera  house  was  crowded,  and  the  matchless  orator  had 
swayed  the  enthusiastic  audience  into  repeated  ap- 
plause. Finally  the  time  came  to  end  the  speech, 
which  Mr.  Curtis  always  does  with  a  flowery  oratorical 
flight.  But  this  time  he  was  in  a  hurry,  with  his 
watch  in  his  hand,  and  said : 

'  'And  to-morrow,  fellow-citizens,  the  American  peo- 
ple will  be  called  upon  to  give  their  verdict,  and  I 
believe  you,  as  American  freemen,  will  give  that  ver- 
dict against  American  slavery.  [Applause.]  Yes,  to- 
morrow we  will  go  to  the  polls  with  freedom's  ballot 


272  ELI  PERKINS—THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

in  our  hands,  trampling  slavery's  shackles  under  our 
feet ;  and  while  the  Archangel  of  Liberty  looks  down 
approvingly  upon  us  from  the  throne  of  Omnipotence, 
we  will  consign  Stephen  A.  Douglas  to  the  pittomless 
bot!'" 

A  loud  guffaw  from  the  fun-struck  audience  greeted 
Mr.  Curtis  as  he  ran  to  his  carriage,  but  the  eloquent 
orator  never  dreamed  of  his  mistake  till  he  received  the 
Hartford  Courant  the  next  day. 

An  oratorical  interruption  came  near  breaking  up 
as  skillful  a  political  speaker  as  General  Garfield.  The 
general  was  making  a  speech  for  Lincoln  and  the  war 
in  Ashtabula  in  1864.  There  were  a  good  many  Irish- 
men in  the  audience,  who  insisted  on  interrupting  him  : 

"I  say,  fellow-citizens,  that  victory  has  everywhere 
perched  upon  our  banner.  We  have  taken  Atlanta,  we 
have  taken  Savannah,  we  have  captured  Columbus 
and  Charleston,  and  now  at  last  we  have  taken  Peters- 
burg and  occupy  Richmond;  and  what  remains  for  us 
to  take?" 

An  Irishman  in  the  crowd  shouted,  "Let's  take  a 
drink,  General!"  And  the  Irishmen  dispersed  in 
various  directions. 

Major  McKinley  was  somewhat  discomfited  while 
making  a  long  tariff  speech  to  the  East  Liverpool 
potters.  He  had  talked  for  about  an  hour  with  most 
eloquent  logic.  "I  am  urging  protection  to  American 
industry,"  he  said,  "for  the  sake  of  future  generations. 
I  am  speaking  for  the  benefit  of  posterity " 

"Yes,  and  if  you  don't  get  through  pretty  soon 
they'll  be  here !"  shouted  a  witty  free-trader. 

"Charley  Foster, — that's  what  the  boys  call  our  Sec- 
retary of  the  Treasury  out  in  Ohio, — well,  Mr.  Foster 


POLITICAL  AXECDOTES  AND  IXCIDENTS.         273 

had  made  a  speech  on  the  beauties  of  protection  at 
Akron.     His  idea  was  that  this  is  a  billion  dollar  coun- 
try and  we  want  to  collect  a  billion  dollar  revenue  and 
have  it  distributed  back  to  the  people  by  a  billion  dol- 
lar Congress.     When  he  got  back  to  the  hotel  he  met 
Governor  Campbell,  the  low  tariff  governor,  who  said  : 
"You  want  to  collect  a  billion  dollars  from  the  peo- 
ple and  give  it  back  to  them  again,  do  you?" 
"Well,  that  isn't  wasting  it,  is  it?"  said  Foster. 
"No,"  said  Governor  Campbell,  "but  it  reminds  me 
of  Marshall  P.  Wilder's  account  of  a  conversation  be- 
tween two  Kentucky  darkies.     One  said  : 
'Hallo,  how  do  you  do?' 
"'Oh,  Ise  fust  rate;  what's  you  doin?' 
"  'Oh,  Ise  been  workin'  for  my  mammy.' 
"  'Is  you  workin'  for  you'  mammy?  what  is  you  doin' 
for  you'  mammy?' 

"  'Oh,  Ise  choppin'  wood." 
'What  does  you'   mammy  give  you   for  choppin' 
wood?' 

"  'Oh,  she  gives  me  a  penny  a  day.' 
"And  what  you  gwine  to  do  wid  the  money?' 
"  'Oh,  mammy's  keepin'  it  for  me.' 
"  'Well,  what  she  gwine  to  do  wid  it?' 
'  'Oh,  she's  gwine  to  buy  me  a  new  handle  for  dis  ax, 
when  I  wears  out  dis  one.'  " 

The  best  argument  in  a  campaign  speech  is  a  good 
story.  It  acts  like  the  parable.  In  fact,  a  good  story 
is  a  parable.  The  puppy  story,  first  told  in  the  Lincoln 
campaign  in  i860,  was  perhaps  the  best  political  story 
ever  told.  It  may  be  a  chestnut  and  so  are  the  para- 
bles in  the  Bible,  but,  like  your  mother's  love,  you 
never  tire  of  it. 


274  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

A  large  Democratic  meeting  was  held  in  Clermont, 
0.,  which  was  attended  by  a  small  boy  who  had  four 
young  puppy  dogs  which  he  offered  for  sale.  Finally 
one  of  the  crowd,  a  Democratic  speaker,  approaching 
the  boy,  asked  : 

"Are  these  Democratic  pups,  my  son?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  then,"  said  he,  "I'll  take  these  two." 

About  a  week  afterward,  the  Republicans  held  a 
meeting  at  the  same  place,  and  among  the  crowd  was 
to  be  seen  the  same  chap  and  his  two  remaining  pups. 
He  tried  for  hours  to  obtain  a  purchaser,  and  finally 
was  approached  by  a  Republican,  and  asked : 

"My  little  lad,  what  kind  of  pups  are  these  you 
have?" 

"They  are  Republican  pups,  sir." 

The  Democrat  who  had  purchased  the  first  two  hap- 
pened to  be  in  hearing,  and  broke  out  at  the  boy : 

"See  here,  you  young  rascal,  didn't  you  tell  me  that 
those  pups  that  I  bought  of  you  last  week  were  Demo- 
cratic pups?" 

"Y-e-s,  sir,"  said  the  young  dog  merchant;  "but 
they  didn't  have  their  eyes  open  then/" 

General  Russell  P.  Alger  was  trying  to  prove  one 
night,  in  a  political  speech,  that  the  Democrats  never 
had  any  policy  except  to  oppose  the  Republican  party 
and  get  into  power. 

"They  have  just  seven  principles — five  loaves  and 
two  fishes ;  and  they  want  those  fishes  bad.  The  Demo- 
crats," said  the  general,  "remind  me  of  old  Zach  Chand- 
ler's Democratic  hired  man.  You  see  old  Zach  had 
three  men  working  in  a  saw-mill  in  the  woods  below 
Saginaw.     During  Lincoln's  last  campaign,  Zach  went 


POLITICAL  ANECDOTES  AND  INCIDENTS.         275 

up  to  the  saw-mill  to  see  how  the  men  were  going  to 
vote.  He  found  that  each  had  a  different  political 
faith.  One  was  a  Democrat,  one  a  Republican,  and 
one  a  Greenbacker.  A  farm  boy  had  just  killed  a  fine 
woodchuck,  and  Zach  offered  to  give  it  to  the  man 
who  would  give  the  best  reason  for  his  political  faith. 

"I'm  a  Republican,"  said  the  first  man,  "because  my 
party  freed  the  slave,  put  down  the  rebellion,  and  never 
fired  on  the  old  flag." 

"Good !"  said  old  Zach. 

"And  I  am  a  Greenbacker,"  said  the  second  man, 
"because  if  my  party  should  get  into  power,  every  man 
would  have  a  pocket  full  of  money." 

"First-rate!"  said  Uncle  Zach.  "And  now  you,"  ad- 
dressing the  third,  "why  are  you  a  Democrat?" 

"Because,  sir,"  said  the  man,  trying  to  think  of  a  good 
Democratic  answer,  "because — because  I  want  that 
woodchuck !" 

Senator  Blaine's  favorite  political  story  when  he  was 
making  speeches  for  Garfield  was  his  Kil-ma-roo  story. 

In  the  Garfield  Presidential  campaign,  the  Democrats 
were  continually  saying  that  Garfield  would  be  a  radi- 
cal president. 

"He  and  Blaine  will  get  up  a  war  with  Germany 
about  Samoa,"  they  said;  "or  get  us  into  an  imbroglio 
with  France  on  account  of  the  Suez  Canal." 

To  illustrate  the  Democratic  status  and  prejudice, 
Blaine  used  this  illustration: 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "the  Democrats  always  see  some 
trouble  ahead  with  the  Republicans,  but  it  is  always 
imaginary.  They  say  the  Republicans  are  going  to 
wreck  the  republic  by  high  tariff  one  day,  and  bankrupt 
the  nation  through  the  pension  office  the  next.     But  all 


276  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

this  trouble  is  imaginary.     When  we   get   to    it   it   is 
gone. 

"The  Democrats  remind  me  of  the  story  of  the  man 
who  was  carrying  something  across  Fulton  ferry  in  a 
close  box.  Every  now  and  then  he  would  open  the 
box  curiously,  peep  in,  and  then  close  the  lid  mysteri- 
ously. His  actions  soon  excited  the  curiosity  of  a 
naturalist  who  sat  on  the  seat  by  him.  Unable  to  con- 
ceal his  curiosity  further,  the  naturalist  touched  him 
on  the  shoulder  and  said  : 

'I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but   I'm  curious  to  know  what 
you  have  in  that  box.     What  is  it?' 

"  'Oh,  I  don't  want  to  tell.  It  will  get  all  over  the 
boat.' 

"  'Is  it  a  savage  animal?' 

'"Yes;  kills  everything.'  Then  the  man  peeped  in 
again. 

Still  growing  more  curious,  the  naturalist  begged 
him  to  tell  its  name. 

"  'It's  a  Kil-ma-roo  from  the  center  of  Africa — a  very 
savage  beast — eats  men  and ' 

"  'And  what  do  you  feed  it  on?'  interrupted  the  nat- 
uralist. 

"'Snakes,  sir;  plain  snakes.' 

"'And  where  do  you  get  snakes  enough  to  feed 
such  a  monster?'  asked  the  eager  but  trembling  nat- 
uralist. 

"'Well,  sir,  my  brother  in  Brooklyn  drinks  a  good 
deal,  has  delirium  tremens,  and  when  he  sees  snakes  we 
just  catch  'em  and ' 

"  'But  these  are  imaginary  snakes,'  argued  the  natur- 
alist. 'How  can  you  feed  a  savage  beast  on  imagin- 
ary snakes?' 


POL  II  'It  'A  L  A  NE  C DOTES  A  ND  I  NCI  DEN  TS.         277 

"'Why,  the  fact  is,'  said  the  man,  opening  the  box 
and  blowing  in  it,  'don't  say  a  word  about  it,  but  this 
is  an  imaginary  Kil-ma-roo.'  " 

I  used  to  tell  a  story  after  the  Harrison  campaign 
to  illustrate  the  status  of  the  Prohibitionists.  The 
Prohibitionists  voted  against  Harrison  and  against 
Warner  Miller, — both  practical  temperance  men, — and 
voted  for  Cleveland  and  for  Governor  Hill  of  New 
York,  the  latter  running  on  a  whisky  platform. 

"It  seems,"  I  said,  "that  on  election  night  a  good 
religious  Democrat  in  New  York  felt  so  bad  at  the 
defeat  of  Cleveland  that  he  died — he  just  laid  down 
and  died  and  went  down.  But  just  before  giving  up 
his  last  breath  he  heard  some  wicked  Republican  talk- 
ing about  high  tariff,  and  he  jumped  back  again  to  give 
the  tariff  one  more  kick.  While  the  Democrat  was 
kicking  the  tariff,  we  asked  him  how  it  was  down  below 
there." 

"It  was  pretty  hot,"  he  said,  wiping  his  brow  with 
his  red  bandana.  "It  was  hotter'n  New  Jersey  dur- 
ing the  election." 

"Did  you  see  any  politicians  down  there?" 

"Oh,  yes;  a  good  many." 

"Any  Democrats?" 

"Yes,  and  more  coming." 

"Did  you  see  any  Republicans?" 

"A  few — but  thousands  of  mugwumps." 

"Did  you  see  any  Prohibitionists?" 

"Oh,  yes!  Every  Democrat  had  a  Prohibitionist, 
and  that  poor  Prohibitionist  was  toasted  all  to  a  crisp." 

"Why,  what  toasted  him?" 

"Well,  the  Democrats  had  been  holding  the  Prohibi- 
tionists between  them  and  the  fire." 


278  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Congressman  Horr  of  Michigan  was  trying  to  illus- 
trate what  he  meant  by  a  mugwump,  and  said : 

"We  had  a  very  wicked  farmer  up  in  Saginaw;  very 
wicked.  John  Whitney  was  his  name.  One  day 
he  surprised  every  one  by  leaving  the  world  and  his 
wicked  associates  and  joining  the  Baptist  church.  He 
remained  an  exemplary  church  member  three  days,  but 
coming  into  town  one  day  he  got  drunk  and  the  church 
turned  him  out. 

"  'What  then?'  asked  a  bystander. 

"Well,  Whitney  came  back  into  the  world  again, 
but  the  boys  wouldn't  speak  to  him.  They  even  went 
so  far  as  to  hold  a  meeting  in  the  Bellows  bar-room 
and  resolved  not  to  receive  him  back.  'Whitney  is 
too  mean  for  us,'  they  said. 

"'What  became  of  poor  Whitney  when  both  the 
church  and  the  devil  refused  to  receive  him?'  you  ask. 

"Why,  there  he  was  dangling  between  the  church  and 
the  world.  He  wasn't  anything.  He  was — well,  he 
was  just  a  mugwump!" 

Senator  Daniel  Voorhees,  of  Indiana,  has  always 
opposed  the  idea  of  allowing  negroes,  though  they 
are  citizens,  to  vote.  He  says  they  are  not  qualified. 
To  prove  their  ignorance  the  senator  tells  this  story: 

"One  day  an  old  negro,  clad  in  rags  and  carrying  a 
burden  on  his  head,  ambled  into  the  Executive  Man- 
sion and  dropped  his  load  on  the  floor.  Stepping 
toward  President  Lincoln,  he  said : 

"  'Am  you  de  President,  sah?' 

"'Yes,  my  man,  I  am  the  President.' 

"  'If  dat  am  a  fac',  Ise  glad  ter  meet  yer.  Yer  see, 
I  libs  way  up  dar  in  de  back  ob  Fergenna,  an'  Ise  a 
poor  man,  sah.     I  hear  dar   is  some  pervishuns  in  de 


POLITICAL  ANECDOTES  AND  INCIDENTS.         279 

Con'stution  fer  dc  cullud  man,  and  I  am  'ere  to  get 
some  ob  'em,  sail.'  " 

When  they  were  selecting  the  Quaker  Indian  Com- 
missioners, Lincoln  called  in  Ben  Wade  and  Voorhees 
and  explained  what  kind  of  men  he  wanted  to  appoint. 

"Gentlemen,  for  an  Indian  commissioner,"  said  the 
President,  "I  want  a  pure-minded,  moral,  Christian  man 
— frugal  and  self-sacrificing." 

"I  think,"  interrupted  Voorhees,  "that  you  won't  find 
im. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because,  Mr.  President,  he  was  crucified  about  1800 
years  ago,"  said  the  senator. 

General  Sherman  tells  a  good  story  on  Corporal 
Tanner,  in  which  Senator  Voorhees  made  one  of  his 
wittiest  sallies. 

"The  day  that  Corporal  Tanner  arrived  at  the  In- 
terior Department  to  receive  his  commission  as  Com- 
missioner of  Pensions,"  said  General  Sherman,  Henry 
Watterson  and  Daniel  Voorhees  happened  to  be  pres- 
ent. Tanner,  every  one  knows,  was  as  brave  as  a  lion 
and  lost  both  feet  in  the  war.  He  was  a  private,  with- 
out much  education,  and  a  very  ordinary,  loose-jointed 
but  picturesque-looking  man,  and  he  has  grown  more 
picturesque  with  age. 

"As  the  corporal  hobbled  into  Secretary  Noble's 
room  in  the  Interior  Department,  he  saluted  the  sec- 
retary and  said : 

'"Hello,  Gen'ral;  "come  down  to  qualify;  to  be 
sworn  in !' 

''Ah!  Corporal  Tanner?'  said  the  Chesterfieldian 
Noble. 

"  'Yes,  Tanner — come  to  qualify.' 


2 So  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

'Let  me  introduce  you  to  Senator  Voorhees  and 
Editor  Watterson,  Corporal,'  said  the  secretary,  suiting 
the  action  to  the  word. 

'  'Glad  to  see  you,  Senator,'  said  Tanner.  'Glad  to 
see  an  honest  enemy.  While  Jeff  Davis  was  shooting 
off  my  feet,  you  and  Watterson  and  Thurman  were 
shooting  us  in  the  rear.     Glad  to  see  you  !' 

'  'And  you've  come  to  Washington  to  get  your  com- 
mission and  be  qualified  as  Commissioner  of  Pensions?' 
remarked  the  Wabash  senator. 

'You're  right,  I  have,'  said  the  corporal,  his  eyes 
twinkling  with  excitement. 

'Well,  I'll  be  dog-goned !'  was  the  only  reply,  as 
Voorhees  took  a  quid  of  tobacco  and  looked  out  of  the 
window. 

'Yes,  going  to  be  qualified  to-day,'  continued  Tan- 


ner. 

tit 


Well,  my  friend,'  said  Voorhees,  surveying  the 
corporal  from  head  to  foot,  'this  government  is  not  in- 
spired— it  is  not  Providence.  Noble,  its  representative, 
can  swear  you  in,  but  the  Department  of  Education 
and  all  hell  can't  qualify  you  !'  " 

Ben  Wade  was  always  bitter  on  the  Democrats,  and 
they  didn't  have  much  love  for  old  Ohio  Reserve 
Abolitionists.  Ben  said  he  asked  a  man  once  how  he 
got  so  low  as  to  be  a  Democrat. 

"Well, "said  the  man,  "I  did  it  to  bring  disgrace  on 
an  uncle  of  mine  up  in  New  York.  You  see  he  treated 
me  very  badly  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  took  a  fearful 
vow  that  I  would  do  something  to  humiliate  him,  and 
I  have  joined  the  Democrats  and  done  it." 

"What  business  is  your  uncle  engaged  in?" 

"He  is  making  shoes  in  Auburn  penitentiary." 


POLITICAL  ANECDOTES  AND  INCIDENTS.         281 

"Well,  you  have  disgraced  him,"  snarled  old  Ben. 

I  find  in  reading  the  old  Greek  that  they  had  smart 
politicians  and  political  demagogues  in  Greece. 

^schines  says  Aristippus  studied  sophistry  to  fit  him 
to  be  a  politician.  It  is  certain  that  he  toadied  to  the 
emperor  Dionysius,  and  made  a  good  deal  of  money 
out  to  him,  even  though  Dionysius  often  called  him  his 
dog.  Aristippus  was  so  politic  that  he  would  never  get 
mad  at  any  indignity  heaped  upon  him  by  Dionysius. 
Once  the  emperor  even  spit  in  his  face,  and  when  the 
attendants  laughed,  Aristippus  said: 

"Oh,  laugh.     It  pays  me  to  be  spit  upon." 

"How  so?"  asked  Plato. 

"Why,  don't  the  sea  spit  salt  on  you  when  you  catch 
a  sturgeon?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Dionysius  spits  pure  wine  on  me  while  I  am 
catching  gold-fish." 

The  logic  of  Aristippus  pleased  Plato  and  Socrates, 
and  even  Dionysius  laughed  at  it  when  he  heard  of  it. 

Diogenes,  who  wore  old  rags  and  ate  cheap  vegeta- 
bles, hated  Aristippus,  who  dressed  finely  and  ate  with 
the  king.  One  day,  when  Diogenes  was  washing  pota- 
toes, Aristippus  made  fun  of  him. 

"If  you  had  learned  to  live  on  plain  vegetables  like 
potatoes  and  cabbage,"  said  Diogenes,  "you  would  not 
have  to  be  spit  upon  and  cuffed  around  by  Dionysius." 

"Yes,  and  if  you  tramps  had  learned  how  to  be  polite 
to  the  king,  you  might  be  drinking  wine  in  the  palace 
instead  of  washing  vegetables  in  the  market." 


FUN  UP  IN  NOVA  SCOTIA. 


Lecture  Experiences  in  Acadia— Riding  over  Longfellow's  Basin  of 
Minas— Nova  Scotia  Potato  Bugs— The  Acadians  Lie  to  Eli— Uncle 
Hank  Allen's  Biggest  Potato  Bug  Story. 

LAST  year  my  lecture  trip  took  me  to  Acadia,  Nova 
Scotia — sweet  Acadia!  My  audience  was  at  a 
venerable  college  near  Annapolis,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing the  president  gave  me  a  ride  over  the  Basin  of 
Minas,  the  scene  of  Longfellow's  "Evangeline."  We 
passed  over  the  very  path  where  Evangeline  had 
strolled  with  Basil  the  blacksmith. 

"Sir,"  said  the  professor,  "that  log  building  is  the 
blacksmith's  shop  where  Basil  blew  the  bellows  and 
shod  the  Huguenot  oxen." 

"Then  Longfellow's  story  was  true,  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  the  haughty  Huguenots  were  banished  by  the 
cruel  English,  and  many  lovers  were  separated.  The 
story  of  Evangeline  is  founded  on  fact,  but  the  poet 
never  visited  the  Basin,  and  his  descriptions  were  incor- 
rect. Longfellow  says,  describing  the  Basin  in  his 
grand  hexameter: 

"  This  is  the  forest  primeval  ;  the  murmuring  pines  and  the  hemlocks, 
Bearded  with  moss,  in  garments  green,  indistinct  in  the  twilight— 

"But  you  see  there  are  no  hemlocks,  nor  pines.  The 
Basin  has  always  been  a  prairie." 

The  water  from  the  valley  flows  into  the  Bay  of 
Fundy ;  and  the  tide  comes  rushing  in  and  out  seventy 

282 


FUN  UP  IN  NOVA   SCOTIA.  283 

feet  high.  When  the  tide  ebbs  nothing  is  left  in  the 
basin  but  mud.  This  mud  is  what  makes  the  great 
Nova  Scotia  potato  crop.  When  the  water  goes  down 
you  will  see  the  fanners  hurrying  to  the  bottom,  where 
they  fill  their  wagon  boxes  with  silt  and  spread  it  on 
the  plains  above.  The  best  potatoes  in  Nova  Scotia 
are  raised  on  this  salt  silt  or  mud. 

The  Acadians  are  a  sweet  people,  innocent  and 
bright.  It  is  always  the  most  virtuous  people  who 
have  the  clearest  imaginations  and  enjoy  wit.  Be 
virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy;  I  know  it  from  my 
own  experience ! 

In  the  field  several  bright  fellows  were  hoeing  pota- 
toes and  I  stopped  to  talk  with  them.  I  could  see  by 
certain  winks  and  nods  that  a  Yankee  from  the  States 
was  considered  a  subject  for  fun. 

"  Do  you  have  any  potato  bugs  here  in  Nova  Scotia?" 
I  asked. 

"Pertater  bugs  in  the  Basin!"  said  one  man  con- 
temptuously. "Pertater  bugs?  Why,  stranger,  I 
counted  464  pertater  bugs  on  one  stalk  in  one  field  this 
morning,  and  in  the  other  field  they'd  eaten  pertaters, 
vines,  fences,  trees,  all  up,  and  they  were  sitting  round 
on  the  clouds  waiting  for  me  to  plant  the  second  crop." 

After  a  moment's  silence  the  second  man  looked  up 
and  said  very  earnestly  : 

"Say,  why  don't  you  fellers  tell  the  New  York  gentle- 
man something  about  the  ravenous  natures  of  our  Nova 
Scotia  pertater  bugs!  Why,  I  had  pertater  bugs,  this 
mornin',  walk  right  into  my  kitchen,  walk  right  up  to 
a  red-hot  stove,  yank  red-hot  pertaters  right  out  of 
the  oven,  and — well,  I  wasn't  surprised  at  all.  I  wasn't 
surprised.     But,"  and  he  leaned  forward  confidentially, 


284  ELI  PERKIXS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"I  was  surprised  when  I  went  into  Townsend's  store 
at  dinner,  to  sec  pertater  bugs  walkin'  all  over  Town- 
send's books  to  see  who'd  bought  seed  pertaters  for 
next  year." 

There  was  another  long  silence,  but  the  depression 
was  relieved  by  the  third  fanner,  who  had  just  arrived. 
He  looked  the  speaker  straight  in  the  face  and  said  : 

"Bill  Monsen !  you  are  a  consarned  old  Nova  Scotia 
liar!" 

There  was  more  silence,  and  Bill  walked  right  up 
to  the  stranger,  smiled,  put  out  his  hand,  and  said: 

"My  friend,  whar'd  you  get  'quainted  with  me?" 

A  year  afterward  I  was  in  Uncle  Hank  Allen's  gro- 
cery in  Eaton,  N.  Y.,  the  town  where  I  was  born,  and  I 
told  him  about  the  Nova  Scotia  potato  bugs.  Uncle 
Hank  Allen  was  perhaps  (the  present  company  and  the 
reader  excepted),  the  most  stupendous  prevaricator  in 
Central  New  York.  I  wanted  to  astonish  him.  After 
I  had  finished  the  story  about  the  big  potato  bugs,  and 
the  millions  of  them  in  Nova  Scotia,  I  waited  for  a 
reply.  After  a  long  and  oppressive  silence,  the  old 
man  said  : 

"Those  Canucks  may  have  big  potato  bugs;  I  don't 
doubt  it ;  but  we  have  the  toughest  potato  bugs  in 
Madison  County  that  ever  existed  in  this  world." 

"How  tough,  Uncle  Hank?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  sir,  old  Gifford  got  a  potato  bug  out  of  my 
garden  and  boiled  it  nine  hours,  and  it  swam  around  on 
top  all  the  time." 

"Indeed  !" 

"1  put  a  potato  bug  in  a  kerosene  lamp,  kept  it  there 
four  years,  and  it  hatched  out  twenty-seven  litters  of 
potato  bugs  right  in  the  kerosene." 


FUN  UP  IN  NOVA  SCOTIA.  285 

"You  astonish  mc !" 

"Yes,"  continued  Uncle  Hank;  "six  years  ago  I  took 
one  of  our  potato  bugs  into  Ward's  iron  foundry,  and 
dropped  it  into  a  ladle  where  the  melted  iron  was,  and 
had  it  run  into  a  skillet." 

Silence,  during  which  Uncle  Hank's  mind  wandered. 

"Well,"  as  I  was  saying,  my  old  woman,  if  my  mem- 
ory docs  not  fail  me,  used  that  skillet  for  six  years, 
and  here  the  other  day  she  broke  it  all  to  smash  ;  and 
what  do  you  think,  sir?" 

"Well,  what?" 

"Why,  that  'ere  insect  just  walked  right  out  of  his 
hole,  where  he'd  been  layin'  like  a  frog  in  a  rock,  and 
made  tracks  for  his  old  roost  on  the  potato  vines.  But," 
he  added,  by  way  of  parenthesis,  "by  ginger,  he  looked 
mighty  pale!" 


ELI   ON  CHILDREN'S  WIT  AND  BLUNDERS. 


Scientific  Lecture  before  the  Anthropological  Section  of  the  American 
Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  Columbia  College,  as 
reported  in  the  World. 

FOR  years,"  said  Eli  Perkins  before  the  American 
Association  for  the  Advancement  of  Science  at 
Columbia  College,  "I  have  tried  to  analyze  children's 
wit  or  blunders.  I  find  children  do  not  blunder.  We 
blunder  in  asking  them  questions  in  an  ungrammatical 
manner,  while  they  answer  correctly.  To  illustrate : 
One  day  little  Ethel,  who  had  a  hard  cold,  was  very 
proud  when  she  came  home  from  school. 

1  T  was  the  best  dirl  in  stool  to-day,'  she  said,  all  out 
of  breath :  'the  best  dirl  in  stool.  I  read  better  than 
Sabina,  and  dot  up  head.' 

"  'Wouldn't  it  sound  better  if  some  one  else  should 
say  that,  Ethel?'   I  asked. 

"  'Yes,'  I  dess  it  would.  I'se  dot  a  pretty  hard  told, 
and  I  tan't  say  it  very  well.'     [Laughter.] 

"Alas!  I  had  blundered.  If  I  had  asked  her  if  it 
wouldn't  have  been  more  proper  to  let  others  do  the 
praising,  her  answer  would  have  been  different  and  there 
would  have  been  no  joke.  I  asked  her  about  sound, 
when  I  should  have  asked  her  about  propriety. 

"Again,  little  Johnny  said  to  his  sister's  sweetheart: 

"'Mithter  Jones,  can't  you  walk  straight  f 

"  'Why,  of  course  I  can,  Johnny  !     Why  do  you  ask?' 


ELI  ON  CHILDREN'S  WIT  AND  BLUNDERS.       287 

"  'Oh,  nothin',  only  I  heard  sister  May  say,  that 
when  she  married  you  she'd  make  you  walk  straight.' 
[Laughter.] 

"If  Mary  had  used  the  word  'reform'  in  place  of  the 
ungrammatically  cant  phrase,  'walk  straight,'  a  joke 
would  have  been  lost  and  a  lover  saved. 

"Again,  many  speak  of  supporting  a  wife,  when  they 
mean  they  maintain  her.  Atlas  supported  the  world, 
he  didn't  maintain  it. 

"When  I  asked  Ethel  who  supported  the  world,  she 
said  quickly: 

"  'Why,  Atlas.' 

"  'But  who  supported  Atlas?' 

"I  had  led  her  off;  and,  after  thinking  a  moment,  she 
said  : 

"  'I  s'pose  he  married  a  rich  wife.'     [Laughter.] 

"Dr.  Collyer  told  me  that  one  day  he  took  up  the 
old  clumsy  church  catechism  and  asked  a  sweet  little 
angel  girl  the  old  orthodox  question  : 

"  'What  must  you  first  do  to  have  your  sins  for- 
given?' 

"'What  mus'  I  firs'  do  to  have  my  sins  fordiven?' 
she  repeated  thoughtfully.  'Well,  I  dess  I  must  firs' 
do  out  and  commit  the  sin.'     [Laughter.] 

"The  little  child  was  more  logical  than  grand  old 
Jonathan  Edwards.  [Applause.]  We  often  incor- 
rectly use  the  word  engaged  for  betrothed,  and  the 
blunders  resulting  from  this,  often  attributed  to  the 
green  Irishman,  should  be  laid  at  our  own  doors. 
Here  is  a  case  of  a  Yankee  blunder,  but  the  unphilo- 
sophical  reader  would  put  the  blunder  on  the  poor 
Irish  girl.  One  evening  I  called  on  one  of  my  neigh- 
bors, Mr.  John  R.  Waters,  who  has  four  beautiful  chil- 


288  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

dren.     The  servant  who  responded  to  the  bell  was  a 
raw  Irish  girl. 

"'Are  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Waters  at  home?'  I  asked. 

"'Yis,  sur.' 

"  'Are  they  engaged?' 

"'Engaged!'  she  exclaimed,  with  a  horrified  look. 
'Engaged,  is  it  yez  say?  Why,  they  are  married — mar- 
ried, and  have  children.'     [Laughter.] 

"As  Bridget  disappeared  down  the  kitchen  stairs  I 
heard  her  mumbling,  'What  does  he  be  insinuating?' 

"One  of  the  most  curious  blunders  which  we  blamed 
on  our  poor  innocent  and  ignorant  Irish  girl,  a  mere 
child  in  intelligence,  was  really  the  blunder  of  her  mis- 
tress. Poor  innocent  Bridget  did  exactly  as  she  was 
told.  Her  mistress,  whose  husband  I  happened  to  be, 
called  Bridget  one  day,  and  said  inquiringly: 

"  'Bridget — let's  see — what  will  we  have  for  tea  to- 
night? Oh,'  suddenly  recollecting  something,  'we  will 
have  those  quail  for  tea.' 

"'An'  will   yez  be  havin'   quail  for  tay,  mum?'  said 
Bridget,  in  amazement. 

"  'Certainly,  quail  for  tea.     They  are  in  the  ice-box.' 

"  'Very  well,  mum,'  said  the  poor  child  of  nature,  as 
she  went  back  to  the  kitchen,  muttering  to  herself,  'and 
sure  and  faith  and  did  I  ever  hear  the  loikes  of  that  in 
old  Oirland?  quail  for  tay!' 

"Tea  time  arrived,  and  with  it  the  company.  The 
table  was  spread,  the  tea  was  simmering,  but  no  quail 
appeared. 

'"Where  are  the  quail,  Biddy?'  inquired  my  wife. 

"  'And  sure  they're  in  the  taypot,  ma'am !  Didn't 
you  tell  me  we  must  have  'em  for  tay?'     [Laughter.] 

The  next  day  my  wife  gave  her  orders  very  plainly— 


ELI  ON  CHILDREN'S  WIT  AND  BLUNDERS.       289 

in  fact,  in  a  manner  which  she  thought  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  be  misconstrued.  She  called  Bridget  and 
said  : 

"'You  are  so  clumsy,  Bridget;  the  idea  of  quail  for 
tea!  Now  listen  attentively,  and  I  will  tell  you  plainly 
what  we  will  have  for  breakfast.  We  will  have  plain 
boiled  eggs,  and  I  want  you  to  boil  these  eggs  exactly 
three  minutes  by  the  watch — by  the  watch,  Bridget,' 
at  the  same  time  handing  her  the  Geneva  watch  that  I 
had  given  her  as  a  bridal  present.  'Now,  do  you  under- 
stand?' 

" 'Yis,  'urn;  sure  an'  its  three  minits  by  the  watch,' 
repeated  Bridget  slowly. 

'The  next  morning,  as  my  wife  was  pouring  the 
French  coffee,  she  asked  Bridget  if  the  eggs  were  boil- 
ing. 

'Indade  they  are,  mum.     They  be  in  the  kittle  with 
the  watch.' 

"  'My  watch  in  the  kettle,  Bridget  ?' 

"  'Indade  it  is,  mum  ;  and  sure  and  didn't  yez  tell  me 
to  boil  the  eggs  by  the  watch?'     [Laughter.] 

"Alas!  poor  Bridget  had  obeyed  orders  literally,  and 
still  my  wife  will  never  believe  that  she  herself  made 
the  blunder. 

"On  another  occasion  my  wife  saw  that  Bridget  had 
put  on  one  of  her  dresses,  and  said : 

'Why,  Bridget,  isn't  that  my  dress — my  new  dress?' 
'  'Sure,  mum,  it  is,  and  it's  yerself  what   gave  it  to 
me.' 

'I  gave  it  to  you  !'  said  my  wife,  in  astonishment. 

"'Yis;  yez  said  oi  cud  have  it  as  soon  as  yez  had 
worn  it  out,  an'  begorra!  yez  wore  it  out  yestherday 
afthernoon.'     [Laughter.] 


290  ELI  PERKIXS— THIRTY   YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Old  Mrs.  Partington,  Mr.  Shillaber's  dear  old  lady, 
was  in  her  second  childhood,  and  Mr.  Partington  was 
always  blundering  and  charging  it  to  the  old  lady. 

'I  can't  bear  children,'  blundered  Mr.   Partington. 
'  'If  you  could,  perhaps  you  would  like  them  better,' 
accurately  answered  Mrs.  Partington.     [Laughter.] 

'A  mother's  blundering  question  often  elicits  a  quaint 
reply  from  a  child.     To  illustrate  this: 

"Little  Charlie  was  eating  pie  while  his  hungry 
brother  Willie  was  looking  on  wistfully.  After  Charlie 
finished  the  last  piece  he  burst  out  crying. 

"'What  are  you  crying  for,  Charlie?'  asked  his 
mother. 

"'For  more  pie,  mamma;  there  ain't  no  pie  left  for 
poor  Willie.' 

"A  child  often  seems  to  blunder  when  it  is  reasoning 
logically  all  the  time.  It  is  following  one  train  of 
thought,  while  its  mother  is  following  another.  To 
illustrate : 

"Ethel's  Episcopalian  mother  was  reading  her  Sab- 
bath school  lesson  to  her  when  she  came  to  the  verse : 

"  But  when  they  next  saw  Joseph  they  found  him  in  a  position 
of  great  authority  and  power,  and 

"'Joseph  was  king,  wasn't  he,  mamma?'  interrupted 
Ethel. 

"  'No,  Ethel,  he  was  not  king,  but  he  was  very  high — 
next  to  the  king.' 

"'Oh,  I  know,  mamma,  he  was  Jack — Jack  high!' 
[Laughter.] 

"Alas!  I  am  afraid  we  worldly  Episcopalians  must 
teach  our  children  more  of  the  Pentateuch  and  less 
whist.     My  astonishment  and  grief  at  Ethel's  worldli- 


ELI  ON  CHILDREN'S  WIT  AND  PLUNDERS        291 

ness  was  only  equaled  by  my  astonishment  that  many 
of  you  scientific  clergymen  here  arc  up  on  the  techni- 
calities of  the  joke.     [Laughter.] 

"But  the  kind  words  and  gentle  sympathy  of  the  chil- 
dren often  teach  us  true  politeness.  They  often  teach 
us  the  lesson  of  the  Saviour,  'Do  unto  others.'  If  t he- 
greatest  scientist  in  the  audience  should  ask  a  child 
who  is  the  best  gentleman,  he  would  say  'one  who 
never  gives  pain,'  and  'a  saint  is  one  who  always  gives 
us  joy.'  What  a  lesson  of  Christianity  and  politeness 
did  I  learn  from  a  little  child  one  day ! 

"One  windy  winter  morning  a  poor  little  ragged  Irish 
newsboy  was  selling  newspapers  on  Brooklyn  bridge. 
It  was  cold,  and  the  boy  had  left  a  sick  mother  and  a 
hungry  little  sister  at  home.  Everybody  was  cold  to 
him  ;  but  by  and  by  a  pretty  little  girl  came  up,  all 
smiles,  and  bought  a  paper;  then  looking  at  his  ragged 
clothes  the  tears  came  into  her  eyes  and  she  said : 
'Poor  little  fellow,  ain't  you  very  cold?' 
"I  was,  Miss,  before  you  passed,'  he  replied. 

"It  did  not  cost  a  cent,  this  kind  word,  but  oh.  it 
made  him  so  happy ! 


FROM  COLLEGE  TO  COWBOY. 


Funny  Introductions— The  College  Senior  Rattled— Lecturing  on  Gettys- 
burg Battlefield — With  the  Cheyenne  Cowboys — Dead  Shot  Bill — 
A  Joke  or  your  Life — Poker  in  the  Cheyenne  Sabbath-school — Back 
to  Sweet  Berea — Lecturing  a  Princeton  Foot-ball  Team— Doubtful 
Compliment  at  Portsmouth — Why  I  Write  Books. 

1HAVE  often  had  funny  introductions  at  colleges, 
but  the  fun  has  generally  been  accidental.  I  have 
lectured  before  about  every  college  in  the  United 
States. 

At  Dennison  University  (Ohio),  the  bright  young 
sophomore  who  introduced  me  had  made  quite  a  rep- 
utation as  a  graceful  introducer.  He  had  introduced 
Joseph  Cook  and  Talmage  and  Phcebe  Couzins.  Now, 
a  name  is  an  easy  thing  to  forget.  I  invariably  have 
the  name  of  the  town  where  I  lecture  written  on  a  piece 
of  paper  before  me.  If  I  didn't  do  this,  when  I  came 
to  call  it  it  would  disappear.  Take  a  name  like  Ypsil- 
anti;  how  can  any  one  remember  it  ?  I  remember  of 
seeing  an  old  lady  in  great  distress  one  day  on  the 
Lake  Shore  train.  She  had  misplaced  her  ticket  and 
forgotten  the  name  of  the  town  to  which  she  was  going. 
The  good  woman  fussed   and  sighed  and  was  all  torn 

up. 

Finally,  as  the  train  passed  Hinsdale,  she  caught  the 
conductor  spasmodically  by  the  coat-sleeve  and  ex- 
claimed : 

"  The  next  station  is  my  place,  isn't  it,  conductor? ' 

292 


/■A'O.U  COLLEGE    TO  COWBOY.  293 

"  I  can't  toll  you,"  said  the  conductor.  "  I  don't 
know  the  name  of  the  place  you  are  going  to.  What's 
the  name  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  don't  remember,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  a 
puzzled  look.     "  It  is  a  very  queer  name,  though." 

"  What  does  it  sound  like?  "  asked  the  conductor. 

"  Why,  like  ridin'-on-a-scantlin',   and " 

"Oh!  Ypsilanti  is  the  place;  madam,"  said  the  con- 
ductor, while  all  the  passengers  smiled. 

At  Dennison  University  the  confident  sophomore 
started   off  his   introduction   like  this  : 

Ladies  and  Gentlemen  :  I  have  the  pleasure  of  introducing  to 
you  a  gentleman  whose  name  is  as  familiar  as  household  words 
wherever  the  English  language  is  spoken.  Let  me  introduce  to 
you — to  you — Mr. — Mr. 

"  Phcebe  Couzins  !  "  I  whispered. 

"  Mr.  Phcebe  Couzins,"  said  the  young  man,  while 
all  the  audience  laughed. 

The  young  man  did  not  notice  the  mistake  at  the 
time,  and  never  realized  it  till  told  of  it  after  the  lecture. 

At  Gettysburg  College  the  lecture  was  in  the  opera 
house,  and  a  staid  old  college  professor,  who  had 
been  a  preacher  for  thirty  years,  introduced  me.  The 
old  clergyman  had  made  no  preparation  for  the  in- 
troduction, depending  entirely  on  the  inspiration  of 
the  occasion  for  the  words  to  express  the  sentiments 
of  the  moment.  We  entered  from  behind  the  scenes, 
the  clergyman  a  little  ahead,  when  the  audience  com- 
menced cheering. 

"  Sh —  !  "  he  said,  raising  both  hands  ;  "  don't  cheer 
me.  I'm  not  Eli  Perkins,  I'm  not  his  Uncle  Con- 
sider, nor  his  man  servant,  nor  his  maid  servant,  nor  his 
ox,  nor  his — nor  his — his "     And   there  he  stuck, 


294  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

while  his  hands  kept  gesturing  till  the  whole  audi- 
ence broke  into  boisterous  laughter.  Of  course  it  is 
hard  to  make  the  types  express  what  a  ludicrous  mis- 
take had  been  made. 

I  spent  the  next  day  looking  over  the  battlefield  of 
Gettysburg.  I  was  in  the  fight  on  the  third  day  there 
and  saw  both  Sickles  and  Hancock  after  they  were 
wounded.  The  battlefield  had  not  changed  except  the 
trees.  These  new  trees  should  be  cut  down.  There 
were  places  in  the  field  where  on  the  day  of  the  battle 
we  could  see  for  miles,  where  the  trees  obscure  every 
view,  now.  I  am  afraid  Cemetery  Hill  will  soon  be  a 
great  dense  wood. 

The  battlefield  is  now  covered  with  thousands  of 
marble  monuments.  Almost  every  regiment  that 
fought  in  that  battle  have  since  placed  a  monument 
on  the  field  to  show  where  they  bivouacked,  fought,  or 
fled.  But  there  wasn't  much  fleeing  that  day.  The 
whole  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  drawn  up  three  miles 
long.  You  could  stand  in  the  center  on  Cemetery  Hill 
and  see  the  right  and  left.  Never  before  had  the  army 
fought  in  such  narrow  limits,  and  the  reason  was:  the 
Union  army  had  got  ready  to  retreat  on  Baltimore. 
Baggage  wagons  were  sent  to  the  rear.  Meade  made 
a  last  stand  before  retreating  and,  providentially,  won 
the  battle. 

The  vast  number  of  monuments  on  the  field  recalls 
a  story  which  they  tell  at  the  pension  office : 

"  One  day  a  shaky  old  man  limped  into  the  pension 
office  to  apply  for  a  pension. 

"  '  Where  were  you  wounded  ?  '  asked  Commissioner 
Tanner. 

"  'At  Gettysburg,  sir.' 


FROM  COLLEGE   TO  COWBOY.  295 

"  '  Gun-shot  wound  ?  ' 

"  '  No,  a  monument  fell  on  me.'  " 


But,  oh,  my  terrible  experience  in  Cheyenne  ! 

I  found  Cheyenne,  Wyo.,  one  of  the  wickedest  places 
in  the  world  when  I  visited  it  twelve  years  ago.  It 
was  a  town  of  saloons,  dance  houses,  and  faro  banks. 
Travelers  for  the  Black  Hills  used  to  stop  at  Cheyenne 
and  commit  the  last  wicked  act  before  burying  them- 
selves in  the  hills.  Of  course  all  this  is  changed  now. 
While  there,  I  wrote  a  letter  to  the  New  York  Sun 
about  "  the  wickedest  town  on  earth."  The  humor 
of  it  amused  the  people  and  especially  delighted 
McDonald,  the  manager  of  the  leading  dance  house. 
He  dramatized  my  letter,  calling  it  "  Eli  among  the 
Cowboys,"  and  the  play  was  enacted  for  many  nights. 
I  was  the  hero  of  the  play,  and  was  represented  as  a 
captured  humorous  lecturer.  In  the  play  three  cow- 
boys leveled  their  revolvers  at  the  hero  and  compelled 
him  to  deliver  a  humorous  lecture,  or  tell  a  funny  joke, 
or  die  on  the  spot.  It  was  funny  to  see  a  man,  sur- 
rounded by  desperadoes,  and  telling  jokes  to  save  his 
life.  At  the  conclusion  of  a  funny  speech  they  would 
all  dance  around  me  with  cocked  revolvers,  singing: 

First   Cowboy. 

I'm  the  howler  from  the  prairies  of  the  West, 
If  you  want  to  die  with  terror,  look  at  me. 
I'm  chain-lightning;  if  I  ain't,  may  I  be  blessed. 
I'm  the  snorter  of  the  boundless  perarie. 

Chorus. 

He's  a  killer  and  a  hater  ; 

He's  the  great  annihilator  ; 

He's  a  terror  of  the  boundless  perarie. 


296  ELF  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Second  Cowboy. 

I'm  the  snoozer  from  the  upper  trail ; 

I'm  the  reveler  in  murder  and  in  gore  ; 

I  can  bust  more  Pullman  coaches  on  the  rail 

Than  any  one  who's  worked  the  job  before. 

Chorus. 

He's  a  snorter  and  a  snoozer ; 

He's  the  great  trunk  line  abuser  ; 

He's  the  man  who  put  the  sleeper  on  the  rail. 

Third  Cowboy. 

I'm  the  double-jawed  hyena  from  the  East  ; 
I'm  the  blazing  bloody  blizzard  of  the  States; 
I'm  the  celebrated  slugger,  I'm  the  beast  ; 
I  can  snatch  a  man  bald-headed  while  he  waits. 

Chorus. 

He's  a  double-jawed  hyena ; 

He's  the  villain  of  the  scena  ; 

He  can  snatch  a  man  bald-headed  while  he  waits. 

At  Cheyenne  I  saw  Dead  Shot  Bill.  He  wore  long 
hair,  a  sombrero,  and  carried  four  pistols  in  his  belt. 
They  said  he  had  just  arrived  from  Leadville.  They 
had  recently  started  a  new  street  car  line  in  Cheyenne, 
and  Dead  Shot  Bill  was  on  the  car — a  personified 
arsenal. 

"Fares!  "  said  the  gentlemanly  conductor. 

"  VV-h-a-t  ?"  yelled  the  man  of  terror. 

"Fare,  please;  five  cents,  please!"  said  the  polite 
conductor. 

"  I  pays  nothin',"  scowled  Bill. 

Then  the  conductor  stopped  the  car  and  called  a 
policeman.  The  policeman  came,  and  said,  as  he 
looked  at  Bill  from  head  to  foot : 


FROM  COLLEGE  TO  COWBOY.  297 

"  So  you  won't  pay  your  fare  ?  " 

"  No,  I'll  die  first.     Dead  Shot  Bill  pays  nothin'." 

"  Hut  I  am  obliged  to  put  you  off  if  you  don't  pay 
your  fare,"  said  the  policeman,  rolling  up  his  sleeves. 

"  You  jes'  try  it,"  said  Bill,  with  glaring  eyes. 

The  policeman  took  another  look  at  the  walking 
arsenal,  thought  a  moment,  and  then  quietly  dropped 
a  nickel  in  the  box. 

"  I  guess  that  is  the  easiest  way  to  adjust  this  case," 
he  said,  as  he  went  whistling  along  on  his  beat. 

"  Well,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  here's  the  double-jawed 
hyena  from  Bitter  Creek,  sure  ;  the  ruffian  of  romance 
that  I've  been  looking  for."  Then  I  whispered  to 
Bill's  partner  : 

"  Say,  has  he  really  killed  anybody?" 

"  Killed  anybody?  You  betcher  life.  More'n  you've 
got  fingers  and  toes  on  you.  Why,  that's  Dead  Shot 
Bill.  Never  has  to  waste  a  second  cartridge.  Always 
takes  'em  an  inch  above  the  right  eye." 

"  Is  he  a  robber  ?  "  asked  several  of  the  passengers 
at  once. 

"  Naw  !  He  ain't  nothin'  of  that  sort.  He  kills  for 
sport.     Wouldn't  steal  nothin'." 

''Might  1  inquire  if  he  has  shot  any  one  quite 
recently?"  asked  an  English  tourist,  beginning  to 
tremble. 

"  Waal,  no  ;  not  since  a  week  ago  Friday,  that  I  can 
recollect  on." 

This  was  carefully  noted  down  by  a  stout,  fat  gen- 
tleman, who  appeared  to  be  all  ears,  and  looked  as 
though  he,  too,  might  be  an  English  tourist. 

"  Why  don't  the  authorities  make  any  attempt  to — 
to  restrict  his  amusement?" 


298  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"Authorities?  Guess  not.  Why,  he's  sheriff  him- 
self of  this  county,  and  since  he  shot  the  last  judge 
for  fining  him  for  contempt  of  court  when  he  shot  a 
lawyer  that  had  the  impudence  to  say  that  a  fellow 
the  sheriff  had  taken  in  for  stealing  a  horse  wasn't  the 
right  man,  there  hasn't  been  anybody  who  felt  like 
taking  his  place." 

A  moment  afterward  a  quiet-looking  stockman  sat 
down  beside  me,  but  as  soon  as  Bill  saw  him  he  turned 
pale,  jumped  off  the  cars,  and  ran  up  the  railroad 
track. 

"  He's  gone  to  kill  somebody  !  Oh,  he's  gone  !  " 
shrieked  a  passenger. 

"  Who's  gone  ?  "  said  the  stockman. 

"  Why  Dead  Shot  Bill  ;  d'you  know  him?" 

"  Know  him  !  "  said  the  stockman  ;  "  why,  of  course 
I  do.  I've  known  him  since  he  came  from  the  East, 
and  I  hired  him  to  look  after  a  flock  of  sheep,  but 
I've  had  to  let  him  go  because  he  was  afraid  to  leave 
the  ranch  on  account  of  the  Indians — in  his  mind.  I 
guess  he  saw  a  mouse  on  the  car." 

The  secretary  of  the  Cheyenne  Y.  M.  C.  A.  boarded 
the  train  with  me.  He  was  going  to  the  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
convention  in  Boston.  He  was  a  lovely  fellow,  born  in 
worldly  San  Francisco,  raised  among  the  miners  of 
Nevada,  and  educated  at  Boulder.  He  literally  ful- 
filled the  scriptural  injunction  "be  ye  wise  as  serpents 
and  harmless  as  doves." 

On  the  train  we  met  a  man  who  introduced  himself 
as  Colonel  Brewster  from  Boston,  and  he  introduced 
his  companion  as  Professor  Dwight  of  Harvard  Col- 
lege. At  Julesburg  they  suggested  to  my  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
friend  a  quiet  game  of  euchre. 


FROM  COLLEGE   TO  COWBOY.  299 

During  an  animated  religious  conversation,  three 
aces  were  thrown  to  my  Y.  M.  C.  A.  companion,  after 
which  Professor  Dwight  gayly  remarked,  with  the 
greatest  coolness,  "  I  wish  that  we  were  playing  poker. 
I  don't  know  that  I  have  been  favored  with  such  a 
hand  for  years." 

My  religious  Y.  M.  C.  A.  friend  immediately  saw  the 
game  of  the  sharpers.  He  looked  up  innocently,  and 
remarked : 

"I  have  been  highly  favored  also.  I  have  a  pretty 
good  poker  hand  myself." 

The  three  looked  at  each  other  significantly,  and 
finally  my  Y.  M.  C.  A.  friend  remarked  : 

"  They  call  you  Professor  Dwight  from  Harvard?  " 

"  Yes."  ' 

"  And  they  call  you  Colonel  Brewster  of  Massa- 
chusetts? " 

"Yes." 

"You  are  both  from  the  East,  I  believe?" 

"  Yes,  from  Boston." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  rising,  "  you  had 
better  take  the  next  train  back.  We  meet  it  just 
the  other  side  of  Kearney.  You  can't  make  a  cent  at 
this.  We  have  been  teaching  it  in  the  Sunday-schools 
in  Cheyenne  for  years." 


What  a  sweet  change  it  was,  after  my  startling  ex- 
periences in  Cheyenne,  to  talk  a  few  days  later  to  that 
sweet  old  German  Lutheran  College  in  Berea,  O. 
Berea  is  where  all  the  grindstones  come  from.  The 
students  say  that  even  they  have  been  sharpened  by 
the  grindstones.  I  suppose  this  is  why  they  call  a 
studious  student  a  "grind." 


3°°  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

Berea  is  a  pure  old  moral  town.  Everybody  goes  to 
church  there  ;  and  the  church  service  is  as  silent  and 
impressive  as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land.  The  Sunday  after  my  lecture  there  however,  ac- 
cording to  the  Cleveland  Leader,  the  church  was  terri- 
bly  shocked. 

It  seems  that  in  the  Sabbath-school,  Elder  Cleve- 
land, after  he  had  finished  reading  the  Bible  lesson, 
commenced  questioning  the  children. 

"  Now,  children,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  benignly  at 
the  front  row  of  little  ones,  "  I  have  been  reading  to 
you  about  what  the  Prophet  Samuel  said  to  Eli.  Now 
can  any  of  you  tell  me  what  Samuel  said?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"What?  "  exclaimed  the  clergyman,  "  can't  any  of 
you  remember  what  Samuel  said  to  Eli  when  I  have 
just  read  it  to  you  from  the  Bible  ?  " 

"  I  know — I  know  !  "  said  a  little  girl,  holding  up 
her  hand  triumphantly. 

"  Well,  my  little  girl,  I  am  glad  you  paid  such  close 
attention.  Now  you  may  tell  the  older  children  what 
Samuel  said.     What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  '  Git  there,  Eli !  Git  there,  Eli ! ' "  answered 
the  proud  little  girl. 

Alas!  My  lecture  before  the  Schiller  Society  of 
the  University  the  night  before  had  done  the  busi- 
ness. The  little  girl  had  caught  the  answer  from  the 
street  boys,  who  had  been  shouting  "  Git  there,  Eli  !  " 
all  day. 

The  Berea  incident  reminds  me  of  a  Sabbath-school 
child's  answer  in  Portland,  Ore.  After  lecturing  for 
the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  there,  I  was  asked  to  say  something  to 
the  Sabbath-school  scholars  on  Sunday  evening.     Now 


FROM  COLLEGE   TO  COWBOY.  301 

my   talks    are   "  keyed    up  "  to    college    audiences,  or 
church  audiences,  which  are  about  as  keen  of  apprecia- 
tion as  college  audiences.     I  could   not  think  of  any- 
thing to  talk  about,  so  I  looked  at  the  children  and  said  : 
"  Now,  children,  about  what  shall  I  talk  to-night  ?  " 
"  About  three  minutes,"  said  a  little  girl. 
The    witty     answer    convulsed     the    church    with 
laughter,  and,  the  ice  once  broken,  I   had  no  trouble 
afterward. 


The  toughest  and  most  boisterous  audience  I  ever 
lectured  to  was  at  Princeton  College.  The  Yale  foot- 
ball team  had  just  beaten  the  Princeton  boys,  and  they 
all  came  to  the  lecture.  They  had  guyed  Oscar  Wilde 
off  the  platform  on  a  previous  occasion.  To  hold  them 
quiet  I  had  to  boil  down  my  lecture  into  stories.  I 
said : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  see  you  are  all  in  a  great  hurry  to- 
night. I  noticed  you  were  all  in  a  hurry,  during  the 
ball  match.  But  speaking  of  being  in  a  hurry,  I  met  a 
Yale  man  in  Hartford  the  other  day  who  was  in  the 
greatest  hurry  I  ever  saw  a  man  in — he  was  in  such  a 
fearful  hurry  that  he  joined  the  church  by  letter,  took 
the  lightning  train  for  New  York,  and  sent  his  photo- 
graph back  for  baptism." 

Of  course  this  quieted  the  boys  down,  and  we  spent 
the  hour  very  pleasantly. 

Before  the  lecture  the  Yale  team,  all  tired  out,  went 
to  the  hotel.  After  resting  a  spell  I  heard  a  tired  and 
yawning  student  say  : 

"  Landlord  !  Landlord.  I  say,  landlord,  is  there 
anything  quiet  in  the  amusement  line  going  on  in 
Princeton  to-night  ?  " 


302  ELI  PERKINS— THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

"  Well,  there's  Eli  Perkins's  lecture  at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A., 
and " 

"Oh,  that's  too  active.  He'll  keep  us  laughing  and 
thinking.  We  want  something  restful.  We  want 
sleep — quiet  sleep." 

"  Oh,  well,  then,"  said  the  landlord,  catching  at  a  new 
idea,  "  try  Joseph  Cook  on  '  Evolution  '  at  the  Methodist 
church.  That  comes  the  nearest  to  bedtime  of  any- 
thing in  Princeton  to-night." 

It  was  after  the  lecture  that  the  Princeton  boys  told 
me  a  good  story  on  Dr.  McCosh,  the  venerable  presi- 
dent of  the  college.  They  said  the  doctor  came  before 
the  rational  psychology  class  in  a  very  thoughtful 
mood.  The  subject  of  the  lecture  was  terminology, 
and  the  doctor  was  burdened  with  thought.  After 
to  the  class  the  venerable  president  said : 

"Ah,  young  gentlemen,  I  have  an  impression!  an 
impression  !  Now,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  doctor, 
as  he  touched  his  head  with  his  forefinger,  "  can  you 
nodding  tell  me  what  an  impression  is?" 

No  answer. 

"  What,  no  one  knows  !  No  one  can  tell  me  what  an 
impression  is,"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  looking  up  and 
down  the  class. 

"I  know,"  said  Mr.  Arthur.  "An  impression  is  a 
dent  in  a  soft  place." 

"Young  gentleman,"  said  the  doctor,  removing  his 
hand  from  his  forehead  and  growing  red  in  the  face, 
"you  are  excused  for  the  day." 


I  had  quite  a  remarkable  experience  at  Swarthmore 
College  in  Pennsylvania.  This  is  a  Quaker  college. 
Here  I  saw  hundreds  of  sweet,  beautiful  Quaker  girls, 


FROM  COLLEGE  TO  COWBOY.  303 

and  as  many  handsome  young  men.  The  very  atmos- 
phere is  pure  and  angelic  around  Swarthmore.  I 
told  my  Quaker  story  here,  which  amused  the  young 
people. 

The  Quaker  Indian  commissioners  were  looking  after 
the  Indians  in  the  West  then,  and  had  recently  returned 
to  Philadelphia. 

The  "  Broad  Brims"  landed,  carpet-bag  in  hand,  at 
the  West  Philadelphia  station,  when  an  Irish  hack- 
driver,  who  chanced  to  have  a  broad  brim  also,  stepped 
up,  and  to  ingratiate  himself  into  their  good  graces 
passed  himself  off  as  a  brother  Quaker. 

"  Is  thee  going  toward  the  Continental  Hotel  ?  " 
asked  the  hack-driver. 

"Yea,  our  residences  are  near  there,"  replied  the 
Quakers. 

"  Will  thee  take  my  carriage?" 

"  Yea,  gladly." 

As  they  seated  themselves  the  hack-driver  asked 
very  seriously : 

"  Where  is  thous  baggage  ?  " 

About  the  funniest  incident  in  my  lecture  experi- 
ence happened  at  Portsmouth,  N.  H.  I  have  told  the 
story  in  print  before,  but  made  Max  O'Rell  the  hero 
of  it,  while  it  really  happened  to  myself. 

When  I  got  on  to  the  Boston  and  Maine  train  the 
next  morning  after  my  Portsmouth  lecture,  I  was 
accosted  by  a  very  nicely  dressed  young  gentleman, 
who  said,  as  he  advanced  toward  me  with  a  smile : 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  are  you  the  gentleman  who 
delivered  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  lecture  last  night?" 

"  I  am,"  I  said,  with  some  pride. 

"  Well,  I  want   to  thank  you  for  it.     I  don't  know 


3°4  ELI  PERKINS—THIRTY  YEARS  OF  WIT. 

when  I  ever  enjoyed  myself  more  than  when  you  were 
talking." 

"  You  are  very  complimentary,"  I  said,  taking  the 
young  man  warmly  by  the  hand.  "  Very  complimen- 
tary. I  am  glad  my  humble  effort  was  worthy  of  your 
praise." 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  young  man,  "  it  gave  me 
immense  pleasure.  You  see  I  am  engaged  to  a  Ports- 
mouth girl,  and  her  three  sisters  all  went,  and  I  had 
my  girl  in  the  parlor  all  to  myself.  Oh,  it  was  a  happy 
night — the  night  you  lectured  in  Portsmouth  !  When 
are  you  going  to  lecture  there  again  ?  " 


I  have  often  been  asked  why  I  adopted  the  profes- 
sion of  literature,  and  why  I  became  a  lecturer.  Mr. 
Dana,  the  great  encyclopedian,  once  asked  me  the 
question  in  the  Sun  office : 

"Now  tell  me,"  he  said,  "what  caused  you  to 
abandon  your  profession  of  law  and  become  an  "au- 
thor and  lecturer  ?  " 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  did  study  law  once  at  the  Col- 
umbia College  Law  School,  Washington,  D.  C.  In 
fact,  I  was  admitted  to  the  bar.  I  shall  never  forget 
my  first  case.     Neither  will  my  client." 

"  What  was  the  case  ?  " 

"  I  was  called  upon,"  I  said,  "  to  defend  a  young 
man  for  passing  counterfeit  money.  I  knew  the  young 
man  was  innocent,  because  I  lent  him  the  money  that 
caused  him  to  be  arrested.  Well,  there  was  a  hard 
feeling  against  the  young  man  in  the  District  of  Col- 
umbia, and  I  pleaded  for  a  change  of  venue.  I  made 
a  great  plea  for  it.  I  can  remember,  even  now,  how 
fine  it  was.     It  was  filled  with  choice  rhetoric  and  pas- 


FROM  COLLEGE   TO  COWBOY.  3°5 

sionate  oratory.  I  quoted  Kent  and  Blackstone  and 
Littleton,  and  cited  precedent  after  precedent  from 
the  '  Digest  of  State  Reports.'  I  wound  up  with  a 
tremendous  argument,  amid  the  applause  of  all  the 
younger  members  of  the  bar.  Then,  sanguine  of  suc- 
cess, I  stood  and  awaited  the  judge's  decision.  It 
soon  came.  The  judge  looked  me  full  in  the  face 
and  said  : 

"  '  Your  argument  is  good,  Mr.  Perkins,  very  good, 
and  I've  been  deeply  interested  in  it  ;  and  when  a  case 
comes  up  that  your  argument  fits,  I  shall  give  your 
remarks  all  the  consideration  that  they  merit.  Sit 
down ! ' 

"  This  is  why  I  gave  up  law  and  resorted  to  lectur- 
ing, authorship,  and  writing  for  the  newspapers." 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  replied  the  great  encyclopedian, 
and  then,  as  he  looked  over  his  glasses,  and  scratched 
his  head  with  a  blue  pencil,  he  continued:  "But  your 
veracity  has  been  so  often " 

Then  a  feeling  of  regret  closed  the  lips  of  the 
speaker,  and  the  world  will  never  know  the  end  of  the 
sentence. 


THE   END. 


L  007  351    938   1 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


I  II    II    II  II   I  II  II 

AA    000  695  463*  "o" 


